


Pair of Potters

by Triscribe



Series: Alternate Living Arrangements [10]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And the Escaping of Said Abuse, Developing Friendships, Fluff, Harry Potter Has a Sibling, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Making Use of Loopholes, Minor Original Character(s), Quidditch, Worldbuilding, and boy does that make a world of difference
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-01-13 08:16:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21241007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triscribe/pseuds/Triscribe
Summary: “My, oh my my my, you’re a complex one, aren’t you? Let’s see here, a quick wit, with quite a bit of cunning to go with it - not too much in the way of ambition, but you are a hard worker, yes indeed...”You’re just going over the stereotypes, Heather thought. What about what Felicity and Kiera told me on the train?The voice remained quiet for a long moment. “...hmm. Seems you’re inclined to look a bit deeper than most whose minds I peer into, eh? Well, if it’s deeper analysis you want... yes, I see, you’ve realized magic is a gift, not a privilege - you’d be surprised how few seem to think the same way... And a fierce desire to protect your brother, my, look how brightly that shines.”Harry’s all I’ve got. If I don’t look after him, no one else will.





	1. A Pair of Potters

**Author's Note:**

> This is By Far the most utterly self-indulgent HP fic I've worked on to date - and considering it's the TENTH in my Alternate Living Arrangements series, that's really saying something. (I swear I'll go back and finish all the rest. At some point. Truly.)
> 
> So, enjoy it or not as you so choose, I'm having a *blast* writing the adventures of Heather and Harry Potter.

“Get up! Hear me, you lazy freaks? I said get UP!” The rapid fire banging on the attic trap door was more than enough to awaken the pair of siblings, even without their Aunt Petunia’s additional screeching.

Heather Potter let out a yawn as she reached for the curtain that divided her and Harry’s sleeping mats, clumsily rubbing at her eyes with the other hand. At the same time, her brother fumbled for his glasses where they sat on the crooked shelf just above their heads, nearly knocking off a pair of battered chess pieces as he did so.

“You send Sir Knight and Her Majesty crashing onto my head again and I promise I’ll drop a worm down your shirt.” Heather’s mumbled threat was lessened, however, by her teasing grin. Harry responded by simply putting on the glasses and rolling his eyes.

Moving so that they were hidden from one another by the former bedsheet serving as a makeshift curtain, the siblings quickly swapped their respective sleepwear for day clothes that were in barely better condition. Heather grabbed a comb that was missing half its spines to tug through her dark red tresses, though when she tried to use it on Harry’s black mop he managed to evade her efforts by darting to the trapdoor. It usually was a coin toss whether she’d successfully get a chance to sort out her brother’s messy hair, so Heather didn’t bother arguing with him about sitting still for her.

The pair parted ways once they’d descended from the attic: Harry went to collect the morning mail and do a quick clean-up of Uncle Vernon’s car while Heather got started cooking breakfast. Dudley woke up soon afterward, attracting his parents’ dual attentions as he made a big fuss about his upcoming birthday. When Harry entered the kitchen with that morning’s letters, he shared a discrete look of exasperation with Heather, who was in the process of serving. Both of them had grown up forced to listen to their cousin whine about how he needed a bigger party every year, with _more_ presents, _more_ food, _more more more._ As the unwanted orphans who were born twelve months and two days apart, and therefore received a single, joint birthday gift every year with no fanfare, the Potters had long since grown tired of his ridiculousness.

But, it was the double standard of the Dursley household, and they knew speaking up about it led to Bad Things.

As soon as the food was all properly arranged on the kitchen table, Aunt Petunia sent both Potters out to the back step with a glass of water and two slices of toast for their own meal. They weren’t let back inside until after Vernon had left for work and Dudley was in his usual summer morning position - on the floor of the family room, surrounded by snacks, eyes glued to a cartoon playing on the telly. Their aunt gave the siblings their list of chores for the day before returning upstairs to the master bedroom.

“Dishes, dusting, windows, upper hall vacuuming, full works for the bathrooms, weeding and pruning, painting the back shed, and both lawns mowed.” Heather grimaced as her brother read out the list.

“I’ll take outside if you handle in,” she offered.

“Deal.”

With that, the two divided to conquer. Heather was able to keep working on the yard when Harry had to stop to fix lunch for Petunia and Dudley, and so got done before him, coming inside to help finish washing all the house’s windows. They were just putting away the last of their supplies when Vernon arrived home, his car door slam being the signal to hurry up and get dinner started.

While Harry grilled his way through a selection of seasoned chicken breasts, Heather assembled the potatoes for baking and peas for boiling. Their relatives spent that time in front of the telly, enjoying some slapstick comedy from across the pond and discussing plans for the following week.

Petunia entered the kitchen when the food was just about finished, and stiffly nodded her approval. “Alright, both of you upstairs. Five minutes each to shower, and then I don’t want to hear any disturbances for the rest of the night, understood?”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia.”

“You can take a plate of food with you.” Under their aunt’s careful watch, Heather took the smallest two pieces of meat while Harry got a bowl of mushy peas. Meal in hand, they happily fled.

After eating, washing, and getting settled into bed, Heather retrieved their torch with the broken lens while Harry pulled out a rather beaten and battered book of fairy tales. Safely alone, the pair took turns reading aloud to each other in whispers. They’d reread the stories often enough to memorize them over the years, but the ritual was still soothing nonetheless.

As usual, being a year younger, Harry dozed off first. Heather continued to just stare at the book’s pictures for a while, before she too grew sleepy. The girl quietly put aside the book, slipped Harry’s glasses off of his face, and turned off the flashlight.

The next morning, they started all over again.

-HPx2-

Both Harry and Heather blinked. “We’re... Going too?” The girl asked, baffled.

“Mrs. Figg broke her leg and can’t babysit,” Aunt Petunia said with a huff. “So rather than risk leaving you here by yourselves, you’ll both be accompanying us, but I expect you freaks to be perfectly behaved with _no_ funny business.”

And so, the Potter siblings got to go spend Dudley’s tenth birthday at Thorpe Park, watching as the rotund boy and his pack of friends went on rides and stuffed themselves with sweets. Even as the elder Dursleys spent the morning keeping them away from going on any roller coasters or other big attractions, the pair still enjoyed being out in a new setting, looking at all there was to see.

There came, however, one strange moment when a park worker seemed to become fixated on the oddly-shaped scar that marred Harry’s forehead. He didn’t explain, only smiled at the siblings and gave each of them a free ice cream treat.

“Consider it a compliment of Merlin Entertainments, the company which owns this park,” the man said when they first tried to protest. “And I do hope you have a pleasant day, young Potters.”

He disappeared again before either Heather or Harry could ask how he knew their last name.

After that, every time a park worker manning the gates for the rides saw them, Heather and Harry were ushered straight to the front of the line, despite the disapproving glares from their relatives.

They paid for it that evening, of course, being sent straight to the attic with no supper, but neither of the siblings regretted their short bit of fun.

-HPx2-

_Miss Heather Potter_

_Right Side of the Attic_

_Number Four Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging, Surrey_

Baffled, Harry tucked the letter in his back pocket, and hurried to take the rest of the mail to Uncle Vernon. It was as he served his relatives their breakfast alongside his sister, though, that Dudley spotted the cream colored envelope and snatched it.

“Dad! Freak Number One got a letter!”

“I did?” Heather asked, pausing in pouring Petunia’s coffee.

“You did,” Harry confirmed, shoulders slumping as he sent the girl an apologetic glance.

“Poppycock!” Vernon rumbled, taking hold of the letter. His face lost all trace of amused disbelief upon examining it, however. Petunia gasped when she too looked closely at the envelope. Before anyone could say anything, she’d plucked it from her husband’s meaty fingers and strode to the rubbish bin.

“No, no, _no,”_ the woman muttered, ripping the thick paper to tiny shreds. “I refuse to let it happen, not in _my house!”_

“It won’t, pet,” Vernon tried to reassure her. “We won’t send a reply, and that will be the end of it, I promise. Now, you two!” Heather and Harry snapped straighter when their uncle turned his ire in their direction, ordering them to get back to work.

As they sat on the back step later, sharing a few burnt lengths of bacon, Heather insisted on her brother describing the envelope to the last detail. Neither of them was able to figure anything out about it, but both hoped that something else might come of the strange occurrence.

There were two letters the next day, identical to the first.

Four the day after.

Then sixteen.

Then more than thirty.

And on Sunday, more than either of the siblings could count: letters came flying down the chimney and utterly filling the house in a great, chaotic mass. Both Potters attempted to grab at the envelopes, only for Vernon to grip the backs of their shirts and bodily haul the pair up to the attic trapdoor.

“We’re going away!” He shouted at the top of his lungs, battling through the swarm. “Far away! Where they’ll never find us!”

Within an hour, each Dursley had packed for a week’s vacation, while Harry and Heather stuffed a spare change of clothes each and their two chess pieces into the elder’s school knapsack. Then the lot of them slipped and slid through a house with floors covered over in a layer of letters to the front door, Vernon watching like a hawk to make sure neither of the Potters picked up one of the envelopes.

For the entirety of the following drive, Heather leaned against the left side door, Harry curled against her while Dudley took up the entire rest of the backseat with his toys. Even the spoiled boy remained subdued, though, still not quite over the shock of that morning’s invasion by paper and recognizing that his parents were severely upset.

They drove the entire day, only stopping briefly to get more petrol and allow everyone a chance to use the facilities. As night began to fall, Vernon pulled into a small boat rental place at the edge of a rocky shore. Harry and Heather spent the few minutes of waiting by watching the crashing waves with awe, as they’d never gone with their relatives on a beach excursion before. Petunia then screeched at them to hurry up, despite the fact she was still struggling to convince Dudley to get out of the car.

One of the rental place’s employees took them all out in a decently sized boat, easily maneuvering alongside a little rock close to the mouth of the bay. Upon it was a two story shack, wood stained by the sea spray to resemble the grey stone beneath.

“Alright Diddikins, you get to sleep on the settee,” Petunia crooned as the five of them got settled in the place. “The freaks will be on the floor, but don’t you worry about them.”

Dudley sneered at Heather and Harry - he obviously didn’t care for the old sofa of indeterminate color, but he’d manage as long as his sleeping arrangements were better than those of the siblings. As for the pair of Potters, they didn’t care one way or another, having slept together on the floor (first in the broom cupboard and then the attic) for as long as either could remember.

“I bet the next carwash that he steps on one of us in the morning,” Harry murmured as he and Heather brushed away some of the dust that coated the floor.

His sister’s lips twitched up into a quick smile. “You’re on.”

Heather ended up winning the bet, for the simple reason that both siblings were already awake and outside by the time Dudley got up the next morning. They enjoyed watching the sea, and laughing every time a wave threw spray up high enough to spatter across their faces.

The pair didn’t have to be responsible for cooking breakfast, either - Vernon had arranged for the boating place to deliver groceries out to them for the week, most of which were pre-cooked meals in boxes or packaged junk food. Granted, the siblings still had to share their usual small portion, but it was a nice break nonetheless.

There wasn’t much in the way of chores to do, either, so while their relatives hid inside the shack all day, Harry and Heather enjoyed themselves out in the sunshine and fresh air. Even when a storm started to build overhead, turning the atmosphere dark and grim, they kept away from the Dursley family as long as possible; only the inevitable downpour forced them back indoors.

“Is it just me, or has this actually been pleasant?” Heather whispered to her brother as they laid down that night.

“Definitely not just you,” he muttered back. “Though I haven’t been able to give you your usual birthday present.”

Every year, July twenty-ninth saw Harry handle whatever was on their chore list that Heather found to be most unpleasant, just as the thirty-first saw her do the same for him. Without any work to do on the rock, however...

“That’s alright,” Heather reassured him. “We can do it when we’re back at Privet Drive.”

“Still...”

“Don’t worry about it, Harry.”

“Fine then.”

The two of them were just starting to doze off to the sound of Dudley’s snores when there came a great pounding on the door that was definitely _not_ thunder.

-HPx2-

“I’m not leaving without Harry,” Heather insisted. She refused to tremble, staring up at Hagrid’s face with a rigid stance while waiting for his response. 

“Well, of course not!” The huge man said affably. “Be good fer th’ both a you t’ see things t’gether fer the first time, Pr’fessor Dumbledore said so.”

Sighing in relief, and nearly falling over as the tension in her muscles vanished, Heather shot her brother a grin. He beamed back, already moving to grab the backpack their things were in. Still huddled together on the rickety staircase, Vernon and Petunia glowered, but didn’t bother to contest the decision. Dudley didn’t even notice at all, seeing as he was stuffing his face with what had been Heather’s birthday cake.

When Hagrid spotted the fat boy, his expression darkened, and he pointed his umbrella at Dudley too quickly for his parents to scream a warning. In moments, there was a coiled pig’s tail emerging from his rear.

Heather and Harry were hard pressed not to burst out laughing, instead making their escape while the Dursleys screeched, bellowed, and overall descended into a mad panic. Hagrid followed them outside into the rain, his expression both pleased and apologetic at once.

“Sorry I didn’t notice him doin’ that earlier,” he said to the siblings. “That cake was s’posed t’ be fer _you_ two t’ enjoy.”

“It’s okay, Hagrid,” Harry told him, reaching up to pat the man’s arm. “We’re used to not getting cake on either of our birthdays anyway.”

“Ah, that’s right! You’ll be ten in just a couple days, won’t you Harry? Perfect, I’ll make a new cake then!”

“Thank you Hagrid,” Heather said, smiling.

“Yer very welcome. Now, c’mon, right over here’s our transportation...” He led them over to a motorbike sitting a few meters down from the shack’s door. Considering the magic they’d already seen within the last ten minutes, neither child said a word as they clambered into the sidecar together, Hagrid’s umbrella still held overhead to keep them mostly dry. As soon as they were settled, their new friend got onto the driver’s spot, and started the vehicle up.

Once the engine got going, a strangely pleasant tingle crept its way over the three of them, and Hagrid was able to set the umbrella aside - the rain bounced away as soon as it got within a foot of the bike.

“Wicked,” Harry breathed.

“Right then, here we go!”

Both siblings flinched when they drove forward to the edge of the rock, only for the trepidation to vanish when they lifted off into the air. In no time at all, Hagrid had flown them up high enough to be above the storm and see a vast map of stars overhead.

More than once, Heather had to clap a hand onto her brother’s shoulder to keep him from leaning halfway out of the sidecar, eager to see everything he could. She, on the other hand, was quite content to sit still and simply gaze up at the magnificent night sky.

Neither would deny, though, that the same bubbling sense of excitement filled them over the strange new truth:

They had _magic._

Same as their _parents._

And there was an _entire new world_ that they were on their way to join.


	2. Purchasing Power

It was late enough that both young Potters fell asleep in Hagrid’s sidecar, despite the anticipation still humming in their veins. Heather stirred briefly when they landed, but she only got the vague impression of being carried through a door into warmth before dozing off again.

Sunlight was what dragged the two of them into wakefulness the next morning - more specifically, sunlight coming through a wide window into the room where they laid together on an incredibly soft bed. Heather had to help her brother find his glasses, which had been set on a nearby table, but aside from that they were both still fully clothed, and wasted no time in hopping up to explore the new setting.

Sadly, the room seemed rather ordinary, if of an old-fashioned design. The only furnishings beside the bed and table were a few chairs, a tall wardrobe that Heather’s backpack was tucked into, and a low bench set against the wall. It wasn’t until Harry wandered into the adjoining bathroom that they encountered something _definitely_ magical.

“My goodness, laddie, when’s the last time you ran a brush through that hair?” Jumping at the unexpected voice, Harry tried in vain to find the person it came from. “Over here, m’boy.”

“Heather! The mirror’s talking to me!”

In a flash, the girl was standing beside him, with equal curiosity.

“Oh dear, no, this simply won’t do!” The mirror seemed oddly upset for an inanimate object. “The lad’s hair being a bird’s nest I might accept, but you simply _must_ do something about your own, lass - those lovely locks deserve so much more than to be left to their own device!”

Blushing, Heather couldn’t stop her hands from creeping up to grasp at the strands that hung limply from her scalp to shoulders. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

“It needs a good washing, for one thing, with proper shampoo and conditioner - then a bit of a trim, I daresay, to even up those split ends, and some styling wouldn’t be remiss. Why, even just parting it to one side rather than straight down the middle would be an improvement! Honestly, dearie, have you never been to a true hairdresser?”

“No. Harry and I always cut each other’s hair.”

Despite having no proper face of its own, the mirror’s sudden silence made the siblings think it was staring at them in disbelief. “...Right then, let me show you what I mean.” With that, their reflections within its surface both split into two, and the versions on the bottom began to change. In spite of themselves, Heather and Harry were intrigued by how different they both looked with the differences the mirror had been talking about: Heather’s hair in the altered version seemed to come alive, becoming wavy and a brighter red than normal. Harry’s was simply shown as if it were trimmed and brushed, the messy strands becoming not tamed, exactly, but given direction. It was quite impressive, all told.

“See?” The mirror sounded smug. “Now, first chance you get, go find someone who knows how to properly use a pair of scissors and a comb, and I promise you won’t regret it.”

“...We just might,” Heather replied faintly. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure, lass.”

She and Harry retreated back into the main room after that, just about the same time that Hagrid arrived bearing a tray full of food.

“Mornin’ Heather, Harry!” He greeted them. “Didn’ know what you two would like best fer breakfast, so I went ahead an’ ordered a bit extra, just t’ be on th’ safe side.”

‘A bit extra’ according to Hagrid was a feast in the eyes of the siblings: griddle cakes with syrup and multiple kinds of fruit preserves, sausages, ham slices, and a whole pile of bacon, poached eggs, fried tomatoes and mushrooms, and more bubble and squeak than even Vernon could down in a single sitting. Hagrid set the tray down and gestured to it.

“Well, go on then, I’ve already had mine downstairs, this whole lot’s fer th’ both of ye. We’ll be wantin’ t’ head out in ‘bout a half hour t’ start school shoppin’, so don’t take too long!” Grinning at them, Hagrid turned and left the room again.

Heather and Harry stared at the mountain of food, slack-jawed.

“...There’s no way we’re going to be able to eat all that.”

“Not in the slightest.”

That didn’t stop them from trying anyway.

Both children helped themselves to seconds before finally giving in, their stomachs fit to burst. A little concerned, Harry poked his nose back into the bathroom to ask the mirror what they should do with the leftovers and dirty plates, only for it to laugh and say that was housekeeping’s concern, not his. He and Heather quickly took turns using the loo and washing up as best they could with the bathroom sink, Hagrid’s time limit looming in their minds. The mirror coached them both through tidying up their respective hairstyles a bit, and sent them off with a reminder of its earlier advice.

Downstairs, Hagrid was speaking to a cheery looking fellow by the staircase, obviously waiting for them. He beamed as soon as the children came to a stop beside them.

“Good morning, young Potters!” The stranger smiled at them, bowing slightly as he did so. “My name is Tom Tolman, owner and operator of the Leaky Cauldron tavern. I do hope you found the room to your satisfaction - you were both rather out of it when you arrived last night, and I wasn’t able to ask for your preferences...”

“Oh, no, that’s alright,” Heather quickly said.

“Yeah, it was all brilliant, especially the talking mirror!” Harry added.

Their replies caused Tom’s smile to double in size, and he bowed again. “Wonderful, wonderful, I’m most pleased to hear it! If either of you need anything at all when you return this evening, please, don’t hesitate to call upon me.” The Potters both thanked him, making the man so happy he looked like he might fall over. Hagrid went ahead and led them out the backdoor after that, into a little courtyard area. He pulled out his umbrella, tapped some of the stones on the end wall, and stood back as the whole lot rotated aside to form an archway.

“Heather, Harry, welcome t’ Diagon Alley!”

-HPx2-

The pile of gold in their trust vault stunned both Potters speechless. Harry was the first to recover, staggering forward to sink a shaky hand into it. Heather, before following, looked to their goblin guide.

“Begging your pardon, sir,” she said faintly, “But- about how much is this worth in muggle money?”

The goblin harrumphed. “Five Great British pounds to a galleon. This vault contains eight hundred and fifty galleons. In total, you have four thousand, two hundred and fifty pounds at your disposal, Witch Potter.”

When Heather did join her brother at the stacks of coins, it was to sit down in an ungainly heap. “This- this is-”

“A fortune,” Harry said in awe. “We- we could get a proper chess board with this! A new book for bedtime! Clothes that aren’t Dudley’s cast-offs or gotten out of the charity bins!”

“School first,” Heather told him. “We’ve got to save enough of it for my school things this year, and both of ours next summer and so on. Hagrid?”

The large man poked his head around the corner at her call. “Need somethin’?”

“How much do you think we’ll spend today on school supplies?”

“Well, if ye want the new, better quality stuff, prob’ly around twenty or so galleons. First year’s usually th’ most expensive t’ shop for, y’see...”

“Got it, thank you. Okay then - if we stick to that number for all seven years, that’s... Two hundred and eighty galleons we need to put aside for the both of us - let’s round it up to an even three hundred, just to be on the safe side.”

“That still leaves more than five hundred to go.”

“I know, I know, but we have to keep at least some of it in reserve, in case of emergencies, or for living expenses once we’re out of school until we have jobs.”

“Split the difference, then - we’ll separate the whole lot in half, take twenty galleons from one side for your school things today, and another twenty from the other side to get personal stuff for ourselves before we go back to the Dursleys.”

Slowly, Heather nodded. “Whatever else we get, though, will have to be hidden among the school items, or else Aunt Petunia is sure to ask where we got the money from. My supplies we can at least pass off as being paid for by a school trust or something.”

That settled, she and Harry both counted out twenty galleons to be stuffed in their pockets. When asked, their goblin guide said they could approach any teller in the ground level foyer for an exchange of galleons into pounds.

Their day just kept getting better and better.

-HPx2-

“Uniform: three sets of plain black work robes.”

“Check.”

“One plain pointed black hat.”

“Check.”

“One pair of protective dragonhide gloves.”

“Check.”

“And one winter cloak, black with silver fastenings.”

“Also check.” Heather closed her bag from Madam Malkim’s. “What’s next?”

Harry moved on to the second portion of the list. “Textbooks.”

The two of them worked through the assorted first year reading material, as well as the other items Heather would need, including a telescope, a cauldron, a set of brass scales, a set of glass phials, and her new wand: walnut, ten and three quarter inches, with a phoenix feather core.

“Last but not least, a genuine mail-delivering pet owl and guaranteed lap-warming pet cat.” Both children turned to smile up at their birthday presents from Hagrid, a pair of young animals that still needed to be named. The snowy owl hooted quietly on her perch, while the sleek black and russet cat meowed from the windowsill. Both had intelligent yellow eyes that gazed back at the Potters eagerly.

The four of them were in their room at the Leaky Cauldron, waiting for Hagrid to come upstairs with dinner. Earlier that day, while waiting for Heather to finish being measured for her uniform, Harry had been recognized by an older boy and practically swarmed by shoppers all eager to bow to him or shake his hand. After that harrowing event, Hagrid finally got around to explaining that the Potters were famous, that Harry was the Boy-Who-Lived, with all the complications that entailed. Uncomfortable with their sudden notoriety, neither of the siblings were particularly eager to linger in the public space of the tavern were they might be accosted again.

“So what are you planning?”

Heather looked up in surprise at her brother’s sudden question. “Hm?”

“You’ve had your scheming face on for a while now.”

“I really need to train myself out of doing that...”

“Heath-_er.”_

“Alright, yes, I’m planning something sneaky. But I don’t know if I can put it into effect until I ask Hagrid about alternate forms of magical transportation.”

Harry tilted his head to one side, more than a little baffled. He didn’t have a chance to ask, though, before their chaperone strode into the room with a tray practically overflowing with food, even more than he'd brought them at breakfast.

“Goin' through yet new things, I see,” Hagrid grinned, nodding towards the packages heaped around the siblings where they sat in the floor. “I remember doin' the same after my firs' school shoppin' trip...”

“Would you tell us about it, Hagrid?” Harry asked, hopping to his feet to help disperse the plates of food.

“Of course, lad. Let's see, it was a long time ago, but I think I can still recall most of th' details...”

As the children ate, they happily listened to Hagrid’s stories, as the huge man seemed to somehow become even _more_ cheerful when talking about Hogwarts. When he mentioned the train that carried students to and from the school, Heather pounced.

“How do witches and wizards usually get around, Hagrid? I daresay not everyone has a flying motorbike like you.”

“Ah, no, that's somethin' of a rarity. Folks aren't s'posed t’ go around enchantin' muggle things like vehicles, even if it can be darned useful. No, most folks use th' Floo, or Apparate, or go by portkey. Used to be broomsticks, too, but they're mostly for Quidditch an' racing, these days. Oh, and ‘course there’s the Knight Bus, if yer really desperate.” After a moment, Hagrid noticed the blank looks shared by the kids.

“...I don't suppose you could actually explain what those are, please?”

-HPx2-

The day after their shopping trip, Hagrid dropped the siblings back on Privet Drive, where they’d somehow managed to beat the Dursleys home. Deciding to take advantage of their continued freedom, the children stowed Heather’s school things safely away in the attic along with Hedwig the owl and Hekkel the cat, before taking the muggle money they’d had converted at Gringotts and heading for the nearest shops.

A handful of people gave them weird looks, but the Potters paid them no mind. By the time they’d finished going around, Harry’s new backpack was crammed full with a travel chess set, two novels, a sketchpad and pack of colored pencils, two button-down shirts, a pair of trousers, four pairs each of underwear and socks, and a light jacket with a hood. Heather’s black canvas duffel held her own new trousers and jacket, her own underthings, two blouses and a dress, and a pair of shoes for the both of them, along with a roll of tape, a torch and spare batteries, a pack of ink pens, a pad of lined paper, a travel sewing kit, and a plush black dog she’d become oddly attached to after spotting in a display window.

Their allotted budget for the outing was nearly all spent by the time the pair started to traipse back, but both siblings were _highly_ satisfied with the assortment of purchases. The final stop was at the local Tesco to buy food they could eat without cooking, and some disposable utensils they could throw away instead of washing.

Still alone in Number Four, they retreated once more to the attic with their spoils, to eat and read and cuddle with their new pets.

It was a good night.

-HPx2-

The next morning, the Dursleys arrived home. 


	3. By Bus and By Train

Early the morning of August fourth, a purple triple decker bus arrived by the kerb just outside a middle class muggle neighborhood - or rather, _on top_ of the kerb, but seeing as they hadn’t run anyone over Emmet figured he wouldn’t bother mentioning it to Ernie.

“Welcome to the Knight Bus,” the teenager said as soon as the doors opened, “Emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard! My name’s Emmet Pommelgrip and I’ll be your conductor this morning...” He rattled through the rest of the script, detailing their prices for seating and assorted amenities, which the little red-haired girl staring at him with wide eyes took in silently.

As soon as Emmet had finished, she pulled a galleon out of her pocket and offered it over. “Leaky Cauldron, please.”

He dutifully counted and returned six sickles change, then guided her over to the first available seat, close by where he could keep an eye on the pipsqueak. The seventeen year old had a couple younger siblings of his own, after all, and while the Knight Bus transported any who called for it, something rubbed him the wrong way of seeing a kid so young travelling by her lonesome.

“First time?” He asked, before returning to the front. The girl nodded warily. “Best hold on then, love. Ernie never actually passed his driver’s permit test, y’know.”

Her bright green eyes widened even more, and she promptly grasped both arms of her chair. Just in time, too - Emmet heard the tell-tale squeak and braced himself, a split second before the bus leapt forward.

Fifteen minutes and another couple spots blurred by, and then Emmet called out to the whole bus, “Next stop, Leaky Cauldron, London!”

When the little girl shuffled off behind a pair of older witches, he offered her a quick smile, and felt a little cheerier at the one he got in return.

-HPx2-

“Good morning, be with you in just a moment!” Pernilla Cotheridge called when she heard the front door chime. She hoped that a customer coming in only just after they opened would herald a good day for business.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” the woman greeted as she bustled out from the stockroom. “Now, what can I- oh! Hello there!”

Waiting by the counter was a small thing Pernilla never would have guessed was old enough for Hogwarts, aside from the fact she’d been in just a few days prior, buying a standard school trunk - she remembered those striking green eyes quite clearly.

“Good morning,” the girl said shyly. “I’d like to see some travelling cases, if that’s alright? Especially any with spells that make them bigger on the inside than out...”

“Enchantments, dear,” Pernilla corrected with a smile. “When you craft something that needs a spell embedded in its bones, so to speak, that’s called an enchantment. Now, why don’t you come right over here, and take a look - I have larger and smaller, heat-resistant, cold-resistant, water and fireproof, shrinkable, collapsible, and of course they all hold expanded compartments that run the length from extra cupboard space to your own personal hotel room-”

-HPx2-

“Mister Tolman?” Tom glanced up, blinked, and leaned forward to peer over the edge of his countertop to see a young face looking back. A familiar face, at that.

“Oh my, Miss Potter! What a delight to see you again!” He hurriedly stood up from his stool to lean a bit further and offer a handshake to the girl. “What can I do for you?”

She smiled and accepted the gesture, before casting a glance at the fine looking dark trunk sitting beside her. “Well, Mister Tolman, I was hoping you could tell me if Diagon Alley has anything in the way of groccers or pharmacies - I’ve got some new shelves I need to stock with food that will keep for a long time, and basic medical supplies. For emergencies, that is.”

Frowning, Tom started to inquire as to _why_ an eleven year old girl only a month away from Hogwarts would need to procure such things, but then Heather turned her wide gaze up at him imploringly, and, well, he’d never been able to resist such a look in any child, let alone a famous one.

“Of course, of course, I’ll let you use my own personal Floo to step through to McGregor’s, he fills my pantries with the best ingredients, fresh or preserved. And Tompkins ought to be open by now, she’s the best to talk to for putting together first aid kits and the like...”

“Thank you, Mister Tolman, I really do appreciate it. Harry will too, I promise.”

-HPx2-

Andrea Scribble glanced up in surprise when someone entered the front door of the Daily Prophet’s headquarters - hardly anybody actually came in person to the building that housed their print shop and offices. Usually, the paper got written correspondence which she then had to sort and disperse: requests for subscription sign-ups or cancellations, anonymous tips about breaking stories, commentary letters, and, of course, Howlers. At least one a week, though Rita Skeeter’s articles almost always resulted in half a dozen a day.

Merlin, but Andrea really hated that woman.

Therefore, it was doubly surprising to see a little girl of all people step inside and make a hesitant beeline for Andrea’s desk.

“Pardon me,” she said in a quiet voice, “Is this where I can buy a subscription to the newspaper?”

“Sure, we can do that here,” Andrea replied, still feeling a little baffled. “But, y‘know, you can just send an owl with the request. Most folks do.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t know that - I don’t know a lot about the magical world, I’m afraid, least of all about owls...”

Muggleborn, then, that would explain it. Andrea smiled reassuringly. “Quite alright, kiddo. I can handle the request for you - let’s just jot down some basic information and a set up your payment preference, and you’ll be good to go.”

The girl grinned at her, clearly grateful. “Thank you. Will I have to change the delivery address when I go to Hogwarts?”

“No, as long as we’ve got your name, our owls will find you.” She picked up a quill and looked at the kid expectantly.

“Heather Potter,” came the quick response. “So, which is the cheapest payment option, long term or pay by the issue? My brother and I need to be careful with our trust money until we’re old enough to start earning income... Are you alright?”

Andrea, upon hearing the girl’s name, had instantly frozen in place. Held midair, her quill dripped a spot of ink onto her desk surface.

“Th- _the_ Heather Potter?” She finally managed to squeak.

“Um, yes.” Her shoulders hunched a bit as the girl stared back.

“It’s an honor,” Andrea breathed, dropping the quill in order to hold our her hand, which Heather carefully grasped and shook. “It really- I mean, I’m sure you’re- this is just, the _best_ thing to ever happen to me at this job.” She was making a fool of herself and knew it, but for the life of her Andrea just couldn’t stop grinning and blabbering on.

“Thank you... But, um, the subscription?”

“Yes! Yes, of course, I’m so sorry, let’s get this taken care of-”

Ten minutes later, Heather Potter slipped back out of the office, her request form filled out and the first of her monthly payments deposited. Andrea, still humming with excitement, nearly ran from the room to go inform her co-workers - except, a thought occurred to the woman just as she stood up.

Heather Potter hadn’t known about sending an owl to the Prophet.

She hadn’t known much about owls, or the wizarding world, period.

She’d come to the Prophet’s headquarters, _alone,_ and asked which payment method that would be the most cost effective, because somehow an eleven year old girl had a fixed budget set up to last her and her brother for seven years.

Andrea smelled a story hidden behind those odd details.

And for once, she decided to look into it herself.

-HPx2-

“Hullo again,” Emmet grinned when the Knight Bus pulled up outside the Leaky Cauldron just before noon. “Need a ride back to Surrey, love?”

“Yes please,” the little red-haired girl said, a shrunken trunk tucked under one arm and the other holding out another galleon for him. “Eastwood Street, or wherever you can that’s close to Little Whinging.”

“You got it! Here’s your change, step right on up and hold tight - here, let me carry that for you - second time around isn’t much easier than the first, I’m warning ya now...”

-HPx2-

_  
**POTTERS-WHO-LIVED, SAVIORS OF WIZARDING BRITAIN, RETURNING AT LAST!**  
_

_A PLAY BY PLAY OF THEIR TRIP TO DIAGON ALLEY, INCLUDING HEATHER POTTER’S SECOND, SOLO VENTURE! TESTIMONIES AND EYE-WITNESS ACCOUNTS, CONCERNS OVER SAFETY AND MORE!_

_Article by Andrea Scribble, Seventh of August, 1990_

“Well,” Harry said, staring at the front page of the Daily Prophet with raised eyebrows. “That’s... unexpected.”

“Can say that again,” his sister muttered back. The pair of them were perched on the back stoop, waiting for Aunt Petunia to call them back inside to start cleaning up the breakfast dishes. Only a minute before, a dark brown owl had swept by overhead, dropping the rolled up newspaper into Heather’s lap.

“This is barmy - surely we aren’t _that_ interesting.” Harry rifled through the pages, looking at the different subsections of the article about them and slowly shaking his head, bewildered.

“I just wanted to get some extra things quietly, not cause a six page long essay to be written about us and spread across the country for every witch and wizard to read...”

“How many do you reckon are out there? British witches and wizards, I mean. Or any magical people, I suppose; they can’t all be here, can they?”

“When Hagrid said ‘the wizarding world’, I figured he meant wizards across the globe, yes. I dunno how many there are in just the UK - can’t be that many, or the normal people would’ve found them out by now....” She trailed off, seeing a worried expression on Harry’s face. “What’s got you looking so gloomy?”

“D’you think we’ll still be freaks in the wizarding world? This,” he shook the newspaper slightly, “Doesn’t exactly scream Just a Couple of Ordinary Kids Here, Nothing Special to See.”

Heather sighed, leaning her shoulder against his. “I dunno. Not freaks, I hope, but being famous might be even worse in other ways.”

“Maybe the excitement will die down after a while and we’ll be able to blend in better?”

“I sure hope so.” A sharp rap on the glass door behind them prompted the children to hide their delivery, stuffing it down out of sight at the base of the step. “I’ll deal with that later,” Heather promised, offering Harry a hand up. “Let’s go get our list for the day.”

-HPx2-

After a grueling month of the Dursleys piling on even more chores than usual, of extra slaps and shoves from Dudley and biting insults from his parents, the arrival of September First couldn’t have been any more eagerly anticipated than by the pair of Potters. Aunt Petunia woke them as usual, demanding the siblings hurry up with breakfast. Once the meal was finished and laid out, Uncle Vernon fixed them with a dire glare.

“Get started on your chores, boy,” he growled. “And you, put your things in the car.”

“Yes, sir,” Heather and Harry chorused. They hurried out from the kitchen and to the cupboard under the stairs, where they’d slept as small children, and where Heather’s school things had been locked away. Harry silently slipped up to the attic to grab the second, secret trunk while his sister pulled out the one she’d gotten on their first trip to Diagon Alley.

With their relatives still busy eating, the Potters set about their scheme.

Heather inserted the key that grew her travelling trunk back to full size, then spun the lock to select a particular compartment. When she opened the lid, a ladder waited, which Harry stepped onto, Hedwig’s cage in one hand and Hekkel’s carrying case hanging from his shoulder.

“See you tonight?” He whispered before descending into the trunk.

“Soon as I can manage,” Heather promised.

Once her brother was squared away, she closed, locked, and shrank the travelling trunk back to the size of a loaf of bread. Then, the girl settled it carefully into her school trunk, and dragged that out to Uncle Vernon’s car.

She had to wait anxiously for fifteen minutes before the portly man emerged as well, barking at her to hurry up and get into the backseat. Only once they were on the road heading out of Little Whinging did Heather dare to relax a bit.

At King’s Cross, Uncle Vernon only pulled to the kerb long enough for her to step out and grab her trunk from the boot, accelerating away the instant the lid slammed shut again. Heather didn’t let it phase her.

Inside, though, was a different problem. The ticket she’d been given by Hagrid displayed quite prominently _Platform 9 and 3/4_ \- and there didn’t seem to be any such place.

“There’s got to be a trick to this,” the girl muttered.

She felt halfway tempted to open up her luggage and let Harry out, to see if he could come up with any suggestions, but resisted by reminding herself of what could happen should any magical people see them. That thought had barely passed through her mind when the girl felt a hand tap her on the shoulder.

Turning, she blinked at the sight of a woman with dark skin and curly hair standing behind her. “Pardon me, dear, but I couldn’t help but notice you seem to look a bit lost - off to Hogwarts, by any chance?”

Heather nodded, widening her eyes a tad to hopefully look as in need of assistance as possible. The woman chuckled, and pointed back towards where another woman and a pair of girls were standing. “My daughter and niece are just starting this year, too. Come on, we’ll show you how to get through to nine and three-quarters.”

“Thank you,” Heather said, grabbing hold of her trunk and heaving up the end once again.

“You’re very welcome. I’m Alista, by the way, Mrs. Alista Queenly. Is your family around here somewhere, dear?” Frowning slightly, Heather glanced up at the woman’s face, and saw an expression that said she already suspected the answer.

So, no point in lying. “No. My uncle dropped me off outside, but he had to go on to work.”

“I see. Just as well we decided to arrive early, then. And no one told you how to get through to the Hogwarts platform?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Hm.” By then they’d reached the small group, and introduction were swiftly given. “This is my sister, Abitha Smokefield, and our girls Kiera and Felicity.” It was obvious which girl went with which mother, as Kiera shared Mrs. Queenly’s curly hair and hazel eyes, whereas Felicity was of a lighter complexion with a steely grey gaze that matched Mrs. Smokefield.

“It’s a pleasure to meet all of you,” Heather said, glad that the ladies didn’t insist on shaking her hand multiple times over. “I’m- Petunia. Petunia Dursley.” The adult sisters, at least, didn’t bat an eye over her name, but Heather saw a quick look exchanged between their daughters.

“Well, Petunia, it’s quite simple to get onto the platform. See this barrier here?” Mrs. Queenly nodded towards the pillar between platforms nine and ten. “We’re going to hurry towards it at a brisk pace and step right through.”

Heather felt her eyebrows shoot upwards. Mrs. Smokefield saw, and smirked. “It’s how we’ve been doing it for decades, child. Felicity, come.” The girl took hold of the trolley carrying two trunks and a pair of owl cages, and together they set off, moving quickly. Heather nearly flinched when it looked as though they’d reached the barrier, but blinked instead as mother and daughter vanished through the bricks.

“See?” Kiera grinned at her. “Nothing to it.”

“As she says, dear.” Mrs. Queenly placed a hand on either girl’s shoulder, and steered them into place. “Now, off we go!”

Heather sucked in a deep breath as they started forward, clutching the handle of her trunk even more tightly. It turned out to be unnecessary - a quiet whoosh, and they stepped onto a completely different train platform, where a magnificent red locomotive sat waiting.

“Wow,” she breathed.

“Come along, then!” Further down the platform, Mrs. Smokefield was looking back at them impatiently. “I want to get the girls settled before the crowds fully arrive!”

Heather bit her lip, not moving as Mrs. Queenly headed off towards her sister. Kiera, though, only took a single step before she stopped, glancing over at the paler girl. “You’re welcome to come with us, you know. I promise, my cousin’s a bit stiff but she doesn’t bite!”

Letting out an amused huff, Heather nodded, and trailed after her.


	4. Aboard the Express

“So,” Felicity said once the three girls were settled in a compartment aboard the train. “Petunia.”

“Yes?”

The grey-eyed girl studied her with a neutral expression, while Kiera looked more amused. “...mm. No. You’re too pretty to be a Petunia. Should’ve gone with Rose, or maybe Violet, if you wanted to stick to another flower for your cover name.”

“Or better yet, picked something else completely,” Kiera put it. “Maybe a name that also starts with the ‘heh’ sound, so you’d have an easier time responding to it.”

Heather just stared at them both. “...I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re both nattering on about.”

“Oh please, Potter, Aunt Alista wouldn’t have approached you in the station if we didn’t already know who you were,” Felicity drawled. “That’s the whole reason she convinced Mother to come through the muggle side today, instead of Flooing, so that we might have a chance of spotting you.”

“And lucky we did, too, or who knows who might’ve helped you through the barrier!” Kiera leaned across the space between their bench seats, lowering her voice. “Or who might _not_ have helped you through. Lots of people wouldn’t mind spiriting off the sister of the Boy-Who-Lived, you know, to find out where he’s hidden.”

Heather kept herself from shivering just by the barest measure.

“Not that our families are among that number, of course,” the other girl went on, straightening back up. “My dad’s Muggleborn, after all, and Uncle Pritchard’s always been just the slightest bit muggle-mad.”

“He is not!” Felicity huffed, scowling at her cousin.

“The aeroplane models in his private office say otherwise, Lissie.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Heather couldn’t help but wonder aloud, unintentionally bringing the focus of the conversation back onto herself.

The cousins exchanged a puzzled glance, before Felicity spoke. “Well... that was the whole point of the War, after all. The Dark Lord and his followers claimed the rights of pure wizards over those tainted by muggles, by blood or mere association. You, didn’t know that?”

“No.” Again, Heather frowned at the look that passed between the other girls. “Look, until Hagrid came and talked to us in July, my brother and I didn’t even know magic was real - there’s a _lot_ we don’t have a single bloody clue about.”

“Blimey,” Kiera muttered. “That’s going to tweak a lot of noses.”

Her cousin, however, continued to stare at Heather for a long moment, before suddenly nodding firmly. “Well, then we’re just going to have to start explaining.”

Both Heather and Kiera blinked at her. “You’re joking!” The curly-haired girl protested. “The train ride might be long, but it doesn’t last forever!”

Felicity waved her off. “We don’t need to cover everything, just the basics, enough that she doesn’t look like a total fool in front of those who care about such things. For example - you know what the Hogwarts Houses are, don’t you?”

“Um, yes? Hagrid named them for us, anyway. He said both my parents had been in Gryffindor...”

“As to be expected - everyone thinks their own House is the best, and look favorably upon those also Sorted into it. Lots of people think that each placement boils down to a few character qualities you may or may not have. In actuality, there’s a _completely_ different standard involved. Gryffindors, for example, are often held up as the bravest and and most daring of wizards-”

“And usually the biggest reckless idiots,” Kiera added.

“-but really, they’re the ones that hold magic before them as a tool, or a weapon, something they can use to shape the world to their will, as is their duty. _That’s_ the connection between them all, not being bold and arrogant or whatever.”

Heather nodded carefully.

“Now, Ravenclaws, everyone claims are smart and witty and whatnot, but cleverness comes in many forms, not all of them the same. The real common element they all share is a belief that magic is to be studied, learned, considered precious for all it’s capable of.” As she spoke, Felicity began rifling through the shiny leather purse at her side. “Hufflepuffs, they get discounted a lot, because their stereotype is being cheerful and helpful and loyal. Which, isn’t often wrong, but the important thing is, they regard magic as a gift - and that gifts are meant to be shared.”

The girl finally pulled an elaborately bound journal out of her purse, a small quill held to its cover by the clasp. Felicity opened it up to a blank page, tapped the quill, and started sketching a two by two grid.

“I thought we needed ink for those...?”

“This one’s self-inking,” Felicity said off-hand, her attention on the paper. “Anyway, Slytherin is the last House, whose members have a reputation for cunning and ambition and, sadly, underhanded tactics. But the view that binds them together is that magic is a treasure, something to be protected and kept safe amongst the ranks of those who wield it.”

“Both our mums were in that House,” Kiera mentioned, “And Felicity’s dad too, although mine was a Ravenclaw. We’re hoping to be Slytherins as well.”

Heather glanced at her. “You think magic needs to be protected? From what?”

The other girl squirmed a bit before answering. “Well, maybe not _protected_ as such, and certainly not kept ‘pure’ like a lot of others. But muggle technology is getting better every decade, and we need to keep pace in order to hide from them, which a lot of people don’t realize. Memory Charms are only going to keep working for so long in an age of video recordings.”

“Why _do_ we hide from them? Clearly not from all muggles, since my relatives knew about magic even before my first letter came...”

“Two words,” Felicity said. “Witch Hunts.”

“Oh.”

“And there’s a special policy for the families of muggleborns, or if a witch or wizard marries a muggle,” Kiera went on. “But, generally, the fewer non-magicals who know about our world, the better.”

“I see...” As Heather trailed off, she thought about the Dursleys, and all the ways they’d treated her and Harry poorly over the years. Had she been alone, the girl might’ve truly believed their claims of it being for her own good - but if there was one thing Heather would never budge on, it was the fact her brother deserved better.

If Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon hadn’t known about the magic, would they still have been so rotten towards her and Harry?

-HPx2-

By the time 11 o’clock arrived and the Express set off, the trio had gained a newcomer in their compartment.

“I’m Beatrice Hare, but everyone calls me Bea! Pleasure t’meet you all!”

The other girls returned her greeting, though Heather again stuck to claiming Aunt Petunia’s name as her own. She didn’t stumble over it the second time around, and Bea simply shook her hand before setting off on a long ramble about any and everything - especially Hogwarts.

“I really can’t wait to see the lake! My da told me there’s a giant squid, and sometimes it waves at you! Isn’t that brilliant? And he said the view of the castle and grounds from the top of the Astronomy Tower can’t be beat by anything! Quidditch, too, can’t wait to see the stadium, and learn to fly! I’ve only ever gotten to ride with my pap, and he’s so slow-”  
Kiera watched the blonde girl with open amusement as she chattered on, whereas Felicity had retreated into a textbook at her first available chance. Heather, meanwhile, was still studying the drawing she’d been given out of the artist’s journal.

It was, in essence, a scribbled version of the Hogwarts crest, with the Gryffindor Lion, Hufflepuff Badger, Slytherin Serpent and Ravenclaw Eagle set at corners to one another. Around each animal, though, Felicity had added notes, such as related elements (fire, earth, and so), perceived traits, and brief descriptions of what she’d explained before.

_Gryffindors: magic = weapon/tool, their duty to use._ Heather knew next to nothing about her parents, aside from what Hagrid had told them. She knew her mum had been a muggleborn, her father from an old wizarding family. That they’d fought against a Dark Wizard who wanted to put purebloods above everybody else, and nearly brought down the whole of magical Britain.

_Slytherins: magic is precious, a blessing = to be protected._ Apparently, a lot of purebloods in Slytherin House used their standard as an excuse to discriminate against others, but when Heather looked at the words, all she could think of was years of being called a ‘freak’.

_D’you think we’ll still be freaks in the wizarding world?_

Heather had no war to fight. Only a brother to keep safe.

“Want anything from the trolley, loves?” Pulled from her thoughts, the girl glanced up, gaze landing upon a cart practically over-laden with dozens of types of treats and snacks.

“I’d like some Chocolate Frogs, please!” Bea bounced up and over, pulling a handful of silver sickles from her pocket as she went.

“Nothing for us, thank you,” Kiera smiled, when Felicity didn’t bother pulling her nose out of her book to speak.

The woman pushing the trolley nodded, then glanced Heather’s way. “And you, dearie?”

“Um...” Hesitant, she peered at the little boxes and packages. “I don’t know what any of those are.”

Bea’s jaw promptly dropped, and she grabbed Heather’s arm to pull her over. “Well that just won’t do! C’mon, we’ve got Bertie Bott’s Every Flavored Beans, Sugar Quills, Ice Mice, Chocolate Frogs - those are my favorite, but I’ll share one’a mine with you, no trouble - Cauldron Cakes, Pumpkin Pasties, Licorice Wands...” She ran through the whole list, and Heather still wasn’t sure what half the things were. In the end, the girl got a few treats, buying two of each so she could share with Harry later.

“So are you muggleborn, then?” Bea asked, once they were re-settled and munching.

“No- well, sort of, I guess. My parents went to Hogwarts, but they died in the War, so my brother and I were raised by our muggle relatives.”

The blonde girl peered at her oddly - and suddenly gasped. She stuffed a fist against her mouth, other hand coming up to point dramatically. “Oh! Oh oh _oh!_ You’re Heather Potter, aren’t you! Oh my Merlin, this is amazing! I can’t believe it!”

Frozen with a Cauldron Cake halfway to her mouth, Heather glanced over at the cousins on the other side of the compartment. Kiera looked back with sympathy, though Felicity was staring at Bea with a disturbed expression, as if baffled over why she was reacting in such an over the top manner.

“Why’d you say your name was Petunia Dursley?”

Heather, caught off guard by the sudden switch in Bea’s demeanor from excited to confused, took a moment to collect her thoughts. “That, um, that’s my aunt’s name. I didn’t really want people knowing who I am...”

The other girl nodded. “Ooh, _security,_ I gotcha. That’s smart thinking, that is.” After a pause, she added, “I’m sorry about your parents.”

Heather, and the cousins as well, stared at her. “...thank you,” the redhead finally whispered. “You’re the first person who’s said that to me.”

Bea smiled back sadly. “My mother died in the War too, before I ever got to know her. Da married my pap after a few years, so it feels like I’ve always had the both of them; and they’re both brilliant, they are, but, well, you can still miss something you can’t remember having, y’know?”

“I know.” Heather swallowed, and rubbed a hand against her eyes. _“Believe_ me, I know.”

-HPx2-

It was a very nervous girl who left her trunk aboard the Express, though the others all reassured Heather it would be sent to her assigned dormitory without trouble after the Sorting. Their confidence didn’t do much to help.

Hopefully, though, the protections of her travelling trunk would be enough to keep Harry from being discovered.

Once off the train, various new first years began to head for a massive figure at the end of the platform, who was waving a lantern and calling for them. Heather smiled when she saw him.

“Hello, Hagrid!”

“Heather! Good t’ see ya ‘gain,” the massive man beamed. After a pause, though, he sheepishly added, “Hope y’don’t mind ‘bout what all I said that went into the Prophet - I didn’t realize that Miss Scribble was a reporter ‘til it came out...”

“It’s okay, Hagrid, I’m not upset with you.” Honestly, not many of the man’s actual words had even gotten onto paper. Most of his ‘interview’ section had been the reporter speculating about particular quotes, such as Hagrid complaining over how their relatives had told the two Potters their parents died in a simple muggle car crash.

Heather didn’t hold that against him one whit.

Hagrid had to turn back to calling for all the first years, and once they’d been assembled, he led the way down a dirt path to the lake. There, a small fleet of boats was waiting, and Heather quickly clambered into one along with Kiera and Felicity, Bea trailing after.

“Oh wow,” the blonde girl breathed as they set off. “This is even better than what I was expecting!”

Heather had to agree, as they floated out to a point where the castle was visible, lit against the dark sky by what had to be hundreds of soft golden lights. Lanterns or candles or magic, she didn’t know, and didn’t especially care - it was a spectacular sight regardless.


	5. Sorted

“Potter, Heather!”

The witch standing at the front of the hall - Professor McGonagall, Hagrid had called her - looked expectantly towards the dwindled group of first year students. Murmurs raced through the hall, as several heads craned to get a better look.

Heather took a deep breath, before stepping forward.

Once she sat on the stool, the Sorting Hat descended. And a voice spoke in her ear.

“My, oh my my my, you’re a complex one, aren’t you? Let’s see here, a quick wit, with quite a bit of cunning to go with it - not too much in the way of ambition, but you are a hard worker, yes indeed...”

_You’re just going over the stereotypes,_ Heather thought. _What about the things Felicity and Kiera told me on the train?_

The voice remained quiet for a long moment. “...hmm. Seems you’re inclined to look a bit deeper than most whose minds I peer into, eh? Well, if it’s deeper analysis you want... yes, I see, you’ve realized magic is a gift, not a privilege - you’d be surprised how few seem to think the same way... And a fierce desire to protect your brother, my, look how brightly that shines.”

_He’s all I’ve got. If I don’t look after him, no one else will._

“Then I hope you find allies in that task, young Potter, because from what I can see here, you’ll need them. In the meantime, let’s set you on the path to working smarter, not harder - a path leading into SLYTHERIN!”

The hall was silent. Then, belatedly, and handful of people began to applaud - barely any more at the Slytherin table than the rest. Heather didn’t let that faze her as she walked over. A few of the other new first years stared at the girl as she sat, a couple spaces away. She ignored them, in favor of watching the rest of the Sortings, and clapping for every student.

Thankfully, she wasn’t alone for long.

Kiera came to join her first, followed shortly by Felicity. Oddly enough, the cousins situated themselves on either side of Heather, rather than sitting together.

When the final student was sorted into Ravenclaw, the Headmaster stood.

“Good evening, everyone, and welcome to another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” Professor Dumbledore smiled at them all, letting his gaze drift over the four tables. Heather would’ve sworn his eyes paused on her for a moment, but then the old man went on. “As I am sure you’re all hungry from your long trip, I shall start things off with a simple quick word: Enjoy!”

In the space of a blink, the tables filled with platters upon platters of food, all of it tantalizing. Heather only stared for a moment before seizing the nearest serving fork. She loaded her plate with a little of everything within reach, even the vegetables the other first years seemed to avoid, and tucked in.

Kiera caught her eye at one point, and smirked. “Slow down, Potter, you act like you’ve never had a chance to feast before.”

After swallowing, Heather decided a bit of abrupt truth was in order. “I haven’t. Harry and I _never_ get this much to eat - closest we’ve come was our breakfast and dinner at the Leaky Cauldron in July.”

She pretended not to notice the glances of other students, or the concerned look that passed between Kiera and Felicity. It was the latter of the two cousins who gave voice to their shared thought.

“Well, surely it wasn’t as though you were starved... were you?”

Heather shrugged, tearing bits of bread into bite-sized pieces to mop up the gravy on her plate with. “Of course not. We usually get the burned or overdone bits of breakfast, and some toast to share at lunch, and as long as we haven’t gotten blamed for any trouble during the day, our Aunt sends us up to the attic with a plate for dinner.”

“You ate in the _attic?”_

Blinking, Heather tilted her head at the boy across the table who’d spoken. “For dinner, sure. Breakfast and lunch, we’re always on the back step. This is quite nice, actually, getting a proper seat and everything.” After a moment’s pause, she spoke again. “It’s Nigel, right?”

“Er, yes, Nigel Berrywell,” the curly-haired boy replied, still staring with wide eyes.

“Pleasure to meet you, I’m Heather. Were you expecting to get into Slytherin, Nigel?”

“Well, not really, my family’s usually Ravenclaw. My mother will be pleased, though, when I write to her. Were, erm, were you expecting...?”

“I hadn’t given much thought to it, admittedly. Both my parents were Gryffindors, apparently, and it would’ve been nice to have something in common with them, but,” she paused to shrug, “After chatting with Felicity and Kiera on the train, I decided Slytherin sounded as if it would be appealing too.” Heather could practically feel the pleased surprise emanating from the girls sitting on either side of her, and hid a grin.

“Might change your mind about that later,” Nigel said, with a nervous glance up at the head table. “With the way Professor Snape’s been glaring at you...”

Startled, she followed the direction of his gaze, and locked eyes with a dark-haired, pale-skinned man in black robes. It only lasted for a bare moment, though, before he turned his head, looking to the woman talking beside him.

“...I’m going to take a wild guess, and say he’s our Head of House.”

“Mm-hm, and the Potions Professor, too,” Kiera spoke. She added, in a soft whisper only Heather could hear, “Mum says he was a Death Eater in the War, but the Headmaster kept him from Azkaban by testifying Snape had been his spy - she also said he doesn’t much care for children, and probably wouldn’t be here at all if he wasn’t paying off his debt to Dumbledore.”

Heather heard the warning for what it was, and gave the other girl a quick pat on the arm to acknowledge her thanks.

After a few more minutes had passed, the Headmaster stood once again, and quiet fell across the hall like a heavy blanket. “Now then, I hope everyone had a pleasant meal, but before we send you off to bed, there are a few announcements that need to be made to set the new school year underway.”

He went over reminders for students to obey the caretaker Filch’s list of restricted items, to avoid the Forbidden Forest at all times, that their schedules would be handed out the following morning at breakfast, and finished up by stating tryouts for some sort of wizarding sport would take place that Saturday.

“What’s Quidditch?” Heather asked as everyone began to stand and file out of the hall. Internally, she swore that following meals would see her slip some food away to give to Harry.

Felicity rolled her eyes and started to answer, but Nigel, coming up alongside the three girls, beat her to it. “Bloody hell, you’ve _got_ to know what Quidditch is, Potter, it’s the best thing in the whole wizarding world!”

She gave him a blank stare.

The whole trip down into the dungeons, Nigel nattered on about broomsticks and balls, player positions, League teams, the World Cup - all sorts of details that Heather took in with a slight smile. It sounded nice enough, but she would reserve judgement until actually getting to watch a game in person.

She’d also make a point to chat with Nigel again in future, as he seemed like a decent fellow.

-HPx2-

Late that evening, once she was certain the rest of the girls in her dorm were sound asleep, Heather cautiously slipped out of bed and padded over to her school trunk. Tension that had been building all day manifested in shaking fingers as she lifted the lid - and was quickly released when the girl spotted her second trunk still nestled inside. Moving gingerly, she plucked it out and shut the school trunk again, before tip-toeing to the bathroom door.

The lack of an inner lock was briefly worrisome, but Heather didn’t have much choice in dismissing it. She headed for the far corner of the room quickly, and set down and enlarged the travelling trunk with its key. Specific compartment selected, she opened it up to reveal the ladder, and clambered in.

Down through the odd dimness she descended, until the girl set foot onto warm stone, just beside a curtained doorway. Heather slipped through, and had to pause a moment to let her eyes adjust to the bright light within the expanded room.

It had been described by the saleswoman as “bare bones”, but to the Potters, it seemed practically luxurious: a proper bed big enough for them both to share, a little tea table with accompanying chairs, a wardrobe and dresser set, a private toilet, and even a window that could be adjusted to show all sorts of scenery! Above and beyond their attic, easily. The overhead lights had been left at full strength, but Harry was curled up in one of the stuffed chairs, where he’d clearly fallen asleep waiting for her. Hedwig perched on the backrest, and Hekkel’s paws twitched where he sprawled in Harry’s lap.

Heather smiled at the three of them. It seemed a shame to disturb their rest, but she didn’t want to leave Harry in suspense for another day, either. “Hey, lazy-daisies...”

The soft call was enough to stir Hedwig, whose head rose with a quiet hoot. Her gaze instantly zeroed in on Heather, and the owl fluffed her feathers, pleased. When neither Harry nor Hekkel stirred, Heather moved closer, lifting her hands to ruffle dark hair and belly fur, respectively. Her cat stretched with a yawn, and purred when he realized she’d returned. Harry was a bit slower to rouse, but he too eventually blinked his eyes open.

“Hey you,” Heather grinned. “Long day?”

Gasping, Harry immediately threw himself out of the chair, tackling his sister to the ground with the force of his hug. “Heather! How’d it go? Did we both make it in? What’s the school like? Which-”

“Are you going to let me answer anything or do you plan to spend the rest of the night rattling off questions?”

“Oops, sorry.”

The pair eventually got themselves upright and re-settled on the floor at the base of the bed, sitting side by side as Heather told her brother all about the train trip, her new friends, the school, her Sorting, and the odd evening that followed.

“I don’t think any of the other Slytherins quite know what to make of me,” she mused at one point. “Everyone seems to be having a hard time choosing between ignoring my being here, or staring and whispering. The only ones who’ve actually spoken to me so far are Kiera and Felicity, and Nigel, and the Prefect who told us about the dorms and curfew and breakfast.”

“Spotted any Dudleys yet?”

“I dunno. Might have to wait for a verdict on that one.”

“Mm. Well, if you do, warn me, yeah?” Harry leaned his head against Heather’s shoulder as she chuckled.

“‘Course I will. S’why I’m the oldest, y’know, so I can keep an eye out and make sure you don’t run face-first into anymore trees.”

Her brother huffed. “That was _one_ time.”

“One time that broke your glasses and bloodied your nose, even before Dudley caught up.” Heather wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “And I’m going to make sure nothing like that happens here.”

“Might be a, a bit hard,” Harry said through a yawn. “Since we’re still, learning, all of, of the magic, stuff...” He trailed off, blinking slowly.

“I know. It’s a work in progress. Now come on, up, before you doze off - we both get to sleep in real beds tonight, but only if you actually get in yours and I sneak back to mine.”

-HPx2-

The next morning, a Prefect waited in the common room to escort the first years back up to the Great Hall. “From here on out, you’re responsible for making the trip yourselves, and in a timely manner,” the girl warned them once all nine children were assembled. “Don’t expect the rest of us to wipe your noses and hold your hands for every little thing - you’ve been chosen as Slytherins, and that means learning to stand on your own two feet.”

Heather nodded to herself, and thought she saw a flicker of something pass through the Prefect’s eyes before the sixth year girl turned and led them out. Felicity and Kiera took up positions on either side of her again, and Nigel slipped over as well once they’d filed out into the dungeon proper, but aside from them no one else seemed too keen on getting close to the red-haired Potter.

That changed when they reached the stairs, and ran into a group of Hufflepuff first years also being led up by one of their Prefects.

“Hullo, Petunia!”

Smiling at the cheeky grin on the other girl’s face, Heather waved as Bea moved to the outside edge of her pack of housemates. “Hello yourself. Good first night?”

“Best one I’ve had in Hogwarts so far!” Bea laughed, before also greeting the cousins, who replied politely if not with the same exuberance. “So what’s your dorm like? Ours is wonderfully cozy, just like my da and pap’s cottage back home! And the Fat Friar came by this morning to introduce himself, he’s brilliant! Our Prefects said-”

All the way up to the Great Hall, Bea chatted on, asking questions without giving time to receive answers, thoroughly delighted by all she’d seen of the school so far. Heather didn’t worry about the other Slytherin students going on ahead, as Kiera and Felicity hung close, and the other Hufflepuffs walking beside them didn’t seem concerned about the three snakes in their midst. The Prefect who seemed to be in charge of shepherding them even smiled and winked when Heather glanced over at her.

Once they actually reached the massive doors, the girls had to part ways again, but Bea promised to come looking for them later.

“Merlin, does she ever pause to _breathe?”_ Felicity muttered as they walked to re-join Nigel the Slytherin table. Her cousin snorted, even as Heather frowned.

“Don’t be mean,” she said. “I like her.”

“I think you like anyone who’s even halfway nice to you, Potter,” Kiera commented.

“Well, yes. I’m not used to it, so I’m going to enjoy it while I can.” That remark got both the cousins to stare at her as they all sat down, matching frowns on their faces.

“...You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” Felicity eventually asked. “Making statements about your rotten childhood off-handedly, just to give us pause.”

Heather just blinked at her.

“...or perhaps not.”

After that, they dug into breakfast, a fantastic array of foodstuffs just as delicious as the previous night’s dinner. Nigel, sitting across from the three girls again, made a point to chat about what he’d heard concerning various Hogwarts professors, little things that made their way throughout the gossip of the wizarding world which Heather, of course, hadn’t heard nor would consider asking about. She found herself to be exceedingly grateful, especially as Felicity and Kiera would pipe up with their own tidbits every now and then.

And then they got to experience a taste of their Head of House.

Professor Snape, as it happened, turned out to be just as eerily intimidating up close as from far away. Heather and the others waited silently as he strode down the length of their table, snapping out schedules to each student he passed. There was a moment, as he approached the little group, that it seemed like the man slowed, that he was going to pause beside them-

-but then the moment passed. Four crisp pieces of parchment were dispersed between them, and on Professor Snape went.


	6. Fight, Flight, and Freeze

There soon emerged, amongst the chaotic newness of classes, a pattern.

In courses that she and her housemates shared with Ravenclaws, Heather always found herself sitting beside or partnered up with Felicity. In those shared with Gryffindors, she sat with Kiera, and with Hufflepuffs, it was Nigel - unless Bea wandered over, as she was wont to do in History of Magic. If asked, Heather wouldn’t be able to explain why her new friends seemed to take it upon themselves to ensure she was always working with one or another of them. She wasn’t even sure when they’d apparently decided upon that course of action, because none of the prats had bothered to ask her permission.

But what Heather _could_ say, quite easily, was that noticing the pattern gave her a very warm feeling indeed.

She never mentioned it, not wanting anything to change - and neither did her new friends ever comment on Heather’s habit of bundling extra portions of food into napkins and tucking them away in her pockets. Nigel and Kiera, from time to time, would slip her bread rolls and the like in between classes or on their way back down to the Slytherin dorms. Felicity, on the other hand, somehow procured a little clutch bag with a clasp that she handed over one morning.

“It’s got Undetectable Expansion and Preservation charms,” was all she said by way of explanation. Heather made good use of the item, using it to carry food she hadn’t previously dared to risk putting in her pocket or schoolbag.

Harry, of course, was delighted by whatever she brought to him in the late hours of the night. With fresh enough food straight from the table, their preserved supplies from Diagon Alley had barely been needed, which reassured both siblings immensely - they had other concerns to worry about.

“D’you think we’ll have to go back to the Dursleys for winter hols?” Harry asked one evening, munching on a pork roll. “Summertime, I think we could get away with camping in the countryside or something, but trying to do that in the cold...”

“A lot of magic clothing is made with heating charms,” Heather reassured him. “I don’t think it’ll come to that, though - I overheard some older students were talking about staying here over the holidays, so it _is_ allowed to at least some people.”

“But will we count? Or you, I mean.”

“Dunno, but I’m going to find out.”

Harry continued to stare pensively at his half-eaten food. “Wouldn’t that seem strange, though? If you say you don’t want to go back over the break, not even to see me?”

“...you make a point.” His sister drummed her fingers against the bedpost she was leaning against, frowning. “Maybe I could pretend to leave, but then find someplace for us to hide out in the castle. There’s lots of unused space nobody ever looks through, especially in the dungeons.”

“But then what if we’re both here in your trunk, and somebody finds and carries it off?”

Heather fixed her brother with a flat look. “Why are you being such a pessimist right now? Usually that’s my job.”

He just shrugged. “That’s how we come up with the best plans, isn’t it? Poking at problems until we figure out what’s got the best chance of working.”

Sighing, the girl reluctantly agreed with him. “Alright, fair enough, but we haven’t even been here a full month yet - bother me about this again when we reach November.”

“Then what can I bother you about in the meantime?” Harry asked with a teasing grin.

“Want me to decorate your face with this treacle tart, don’t you-” Heather started to scramble forward, dessert dish in hand, causing her brother to laugh and retreat. They chased each other around the little room for a few minutes, Hekkel joining in while Hedwig looked on disapprovingly, before collapsing side by side onto the bed.

“Hey, Heather?”

“Mm?”

“Love you.”

She smiled. “Love you too, Harry.”

-HPx2-

While curious, Heather couldn’t say she was looking forward to flying class with any greater amount of enthusiasm than she did her other courses - it was all magic, and therefore brilliant. Even History, though she did tend to ignore Binns and focus on the books Felicity would get her, ones written about the original separation of magical and mundane, ancient and current politics, Britain’s age of Empire from a wizarding standpoint, and of course the War against Voldemort.

Flying, though, she didn’t expect to be any more exciting that getting to cast spells in Charms class.

But _oh,_ was she so very, very wrong.

A single command of “Up!” was all it took to send Heather’s broom shooting skywards, smacking into her palm with a clean slap. Blinking in surprise, the girl grinned. The polished wood felt warm, almost _alive_ in her hand. She quickly mounted, Madam Hooch’s instructions growing distant to her ears. There was something thrumming in her veins, and the girl was eager to see what could happen when she went along with its demands.

“Now then, I want everyone to carefully push off from the ground, like so - hover for a moment, and then touch back down- _down,_ Miss Potter, I said- Miss Potter! Come back down here-!”

Heather couldn’t have obeyed her even if she understood what the grey-haired witch was yelling. Too much of her had become keyed in to the broom, to the wind whistling around her, to the sheer euphoria of being _airborne._ Leaning to one side, and then the other, Heather kept up a steady forward motion as she maneuvered about, delighting in how the broomstick responded.

It was _amazing._

It also ended far too quickly.

_“Potter!”_

“Hullo, Professor!” Heather beamed, slowing as she looped around. “I’m flying!”

“I can see that, Miss Potter.” Professor Snape glowered at her from the window of the Owlery Tower, lowering his voice only a bit. “May I ask _why_ you are flying so high, and _well_ away from the supervision of Madam Hooch?”

It finally occurred to the girl that, yes, she had rather left behind her instructor and the rest of the class, hadn’t she? “Oh. Um. Oops?”

Her Head of House arched a single eyebrow. “Indeed. Perhaps you ought to return with all due haste?”

“Yes sir, I’ll do that right now.” Even so, she couldn’t resist zooming off at speed, and spinning around a couple more towers, before finally dropping back down into the courtyard where Madam Hooch was trying to keep everyone else under control.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Heather apologized, coming to a halt beside the woman. “I didn’t mean to go off like that, truly. I just- I’m _flying.”_ Her enthusiasm refused to be contained, though Heather did really try to look as contrite as possible.

Hooch _harrumphed_ at her. “Yes, you certainly are. Feet on the ground, Miss Potter.”

She finally dropped and landed the final six inches to the grass.

“Now. Seeing as there were no accidents on your joy flight around the castle, I won’t deduct you any House points. _However,”_ the instructor added, fixing Heather with a look she couldn’t quite decipher. “I will order that you join me back here at eight o’clock sharp Saturday morning.”

“For detention, ma’am?”

“For an _advanced lesson,_ girl.”

And really, how could she possibly protest that?

Professor Snape, however, didn’t quite see it in the same light as Madam Hooch. It didn’t take long for him to come and track both her and Heather down that afternoon. “She needs _at least_ three days of detention.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, the girl didn’t have any trouble, she’s clearly a natural!”

“It was still reckless endangerment, to herself and to her classmates-”

“The rest of the class wasn’t in any danger from her taking off-”

“And if someone without such natural talent felt inclined to do the same?”

Golden eyes and black glared at each other, and Heather very quietly interjected before they could resume arguing. “Begging your pardon, Madam Hooch, but Professor Snape is right.”

Both adults blinked at her. “You _want_ to be given detention, Miss Potter?” Hooch asked incredulously.

“No, of course not, but I do deserve it, don’t I? If someone else had followed me and gotten hurt,” Heather grimaced at the mere thought, “Then I would’ve been to blame. So, Professor Snape is right - I need to be held accountable for my actions.”

The man himself was staring at her with an expression so carefully blank it had to be hiding something. Hooch snorted when she glanced at him. “Makes me think we ought to be calling her Evans instead of Potter, eh Severus?”

That got the Potions professor to come back to himself, as he sneered at the both of them before turning on his heel to stride away. “My office after dinner, Potter.”

Frowning, Heather glanced from his retreating back to Madam Hooch. “Ma’am? Why would you call me Evans?”

“Because you are very much your mother’s daughter, girl,” the flight instructor said. When she saw the lingering confusion on Heather’s face, she added, “That was her maiden name, you know. Lily Evans.”

“Oh.” Feeling suddenly warm, the girl smiled. “Thank you, ma’am.”

-HPx2-

Heather’s friends, though they all considered her a bit daft over volunteering for detention, nevertheless walked down with her to Professor Snape’s office after dinner, and Nigel even slipped her a bread roll with a bit of cheese wrapped inside a napkin before she knocked.

“Enter.” Squaring her shoulders, the girl opened the door and stepped inside.

Professor Snape sat behind his desk, focused on his quill scratching numerous red marks over a student’s essay. Heather forewent the empty chair and simply stood before him, waiting in silence. After a few minutes, the man finally looked up with a raised eyebrow.

“Do you intend to remain there all night, or inquire as to what your detention assignment is?” Heather refused to let herself flinch at his harsh tone.

“You were busy, sir,” she replied quietly. “I thought it better to wait until you addressed me.”

“Hmph.” Professor Snape set aside the graded essay and stood. “Follow.”

Heather trailed after him as the man went through a side door, which connected to a chamber full of dirty cauldrons, their interiors (and some exteriors) coated with the dried remnants of various potions. Off to one side was a water faucet with a deep sink, some buckets, scrubbing brushes, and big soap bars piled alongside. Guessing her teacher’s intentions, Heather didn’t wait for his orders, instead stepping smartly to the sink while rolling up her sleeves.

She turned on the tap, testing the water temperature with a wrist and adjusting it to a heat just shy of hurting. Then Heather filled two buckets, rubbing a thick bristled brush against one of the soap bars beneath the faucet as it ran, adding bubbles to the steaming water. Once those were ready, she dropped a brush in each, grasped their handles, and turned towards the cauldrons.

Professor Snape caught her eye, still standing by the door and with another carefully blank look on his face. “I’ll get these done as quickly as I can, sir. If any of them need soaking overnight, I’ll come back after class tomorrow to finish them off.”

“...very well, Miss Potter,” her teacher said. “We’ll see how far you get in the next two hours.” He made no move to leave, as Heather set her buckets down beside the pile and got to work.

An hour and a half later, fourteen cauldrons had been scrubbed clean and were air drying, while seven others sat in a line by the sink, filled with soapy water. Heather rinsed out the buckets and brushes she’d used, then returned them to their original places. Her outer robe had long since been taken off and placed out of the way, as the warmth generated by her labors had made the extra layer unnecessary. Professor Snape continued to watch her from his place by the door.

Heather tried to offer him a tired smile as she unfolded her robe to pull it back on, but her face instead went pale as the cheese and bread Nigel had slipped her earlier fell out of their pocket. The food bounced on the stone floor, fetching up at a spot in between the two people.

_Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic,_ Heather mentally chanted. She knew that if it was played off lightly, if she pretended the food was just a bedtime snack, then her teacher likely wouldn’t do more than scold her for it. But her body refused to move, locked in place by the sheer terror of _what if he figures it out, what if they search my trunk and find Harry and he’ll be sent back and it’ll be all my fault-_

After a startled pause, Professor Snape stepped forward. He bent to pick up the bread and cheese and straightened again in the same smooth movement, before raising an eyebrow at the silent Heather. “You are aware, Miss Potter, that students removing food from the Great Hall for later snacking is frowned upon at Hogwarts.”

“Yes, sir,” Heather whispered. “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

The professor continued to stare at her for a long moment. He then handed the bread and cheese back to her. Heather accepted them with a surprised blink.

“Come with me, child.”

They walked back through and out of Professor Snape’s office, and off through the dungeons, up one set of stairs and down another. The halls gradually grew warmer, and Heather realized they’d moved from Slytherin to Hufflepuff territory about the time her teacher stopped at a painting of a bowl of fruit. He then surprised her further still, by reaching up and _tickling_ a pear in the picture.

In a moment, the entire section of stone wall before them slid open, revealing an astounding sight: rows of cooking tables, stacks upon stacks of pots and pans, more shelf space than a grocery store, and all of it managed by a small army of tiny, flappy-eared creatures.

One of them spotted Heather and her teacher as they entered, and came hurrying over. “Good evening, Master Potions Professor Snape, what can we be doing for you tonight?”

“A pot of tea, if you would, Plimsy,” the man said. “And perhaps a few biscuits, if you aren’t too busy.”

The little creature flapped her ears in what Heather thought to be a gesture of amusement. “We always be keeping busy, sir, you be knowing that. Tea and biscuits, right away!” She plunged back off into the bustling crowd, and Professor Snape led Heather to a small table set up off to one side of the room, out of the way.

“...what are they, sir?” The girl asked quietly, watching the activity with wide eyes.

“House elves. Magical beings with unique powers, who draw strength from being bound to wizarding families, and in return carry out chores such as cleaning and cooking.” 

“Oh.” The two remained silent until Plimsy returned with a tea tray to set upon the small table. Thanking her caused the elf to beam and pat Heather’s hand. “Little miss is a kind one, to be sure.”

When she’d gone again, Professor Snape poured two cups of tea, and slid the plate of four biscuits closer to Heather’s side of the table. She accepted both her drink and the treat, sipping and nibbling by turns. After the tea had begun to cool and the biscuits were mostly eaten, her teacher spoke again. “Though they are always busy here, preparing for the next meal, the elves rarely mind students visiting for snacks - though I will warn you, they have standing orders to inform me if any Slytherin student consumes too unhealthy a diet.”

Heather stared at him.

“In future, Miss Potter, I expect you will make use of this knowledge rather than hiding pilfered cheese in your pocket?”

“I will - thank you, sir.”

“Hm.”

-HPx2-

That night, it was a very thoughtful Heather who went down into the travelling trunk to visit with Harry. He listened with wide eyes as she told him about her odd interactions with Professor Snape, and bit his lip when she got to the part about being given permission to return to the kitchen.

“I can manage on the preserved stuff from Diagon,” he offered. “If it would be too suspicious to show up there every day for food...”

“I’ll figure something out,” his sister promised. “I doubt my friends will stop slipping me things anyway, so I’ll try to space out visits to the kitchen to every other day or something.”

“And you’ll be careful around Professor Snape?”

“I will, but...” Heather trailed off with a frustrated sigh. “I dunno, there’s something about how he acts that just- I feel like there’s more to everything he says and does, I just don’t know _what._ Besides which, he didn’t _have_ to show me how to get into the kitchen - he could’ve just ordered me not to sneak food out of the Great Hall anymore.”

“Heather...”

“I’ll be careful, I promise.”

“Good,” Harry said, moving to curl up against her side. Heather dropped an arm over his shoulders. “I get worried, sometimes.”

“Well, don’t. That’s my job. Want me to bring you some more books from the library tomorrow?”

“Yes, please.”


	7. Double Trouble

Most students at Hogwarts seemed inclined to focus on their own lives and studies, interacting mainly with just their friends and immediate class or housemates, and for the most part keeping their heads down when it came to trouble.

But not all.

“GAIN ‘WAY!” Two voices shouted at the tops of their lungs, and Heather just barely managed to seize Bea by the elbow in time to throw the both of them clear. An enlarged children’s wagon came hurtling down the hallway barely a moment later, two whooping redheads sitting within.

“Blimey! Those Weasley twins sure are a right terror,” Bea chuckled, pushing herself back off of the wall.

“You can say that again,” Heather huffed as she bent to retrieve her books.

“Blimey, those Weasley twins sure are-”

“Oh, hush.” Both girls laughed at each other, before continuing on towards the library.

Somehow, the Weasley twins managed to steer their makeshift vehicle around two corners without crashing, only to wind up being caught by Professor McGonagall just before they could careen through the library doors. When Heather and Bea arrived, the pair were still in their wagon, floating halfway to the ceiling, and taking turns rambling through a long winded story that _might_ have been an explanation.

The Transfiguration Mistress did not look amused.

She caught sight of the girls snickering as they went by, and raised a single eyebrow. “I hope you take this lesson to heart, concerning what happens to pranksters in these halls, Miss Potter.”

“Me, ma’am?” Heather blinked, surprised. “I’m not a prankster.”

Professor McGonagall _hmphed._ “So your father often said, mere hours before I caught him and his band of Marauders in the middle of yet another scheme.”

Baffled, Heather didn’t have a chance to ask what she was talking about before the woman turned back towards the suddenly silent Weasley twins. Bea caught her attention again after a moment, and the girls went on, soon putting the incident out of mind.

-HPx2-

It very soundly came _back_ to mind mere hours later, when Heather was heading alone to the Slytherin dorms to put away her bag before dinner. As she passed by a tapestry depicting some sort of scene involving Merlin and his muggle king and a little white dragon, a hand shot out from behind the cloth. There wasn’t even a chance to shout as she was dragged off her feet, because a second hand caught her other arm, and a third went over her mouth, and next that Heather knew she was staring wide-eyed at Fred and George Weasley.

“Evening, Potter!” One of them said cheerfully. “Fancy running into you down here!”

“Hope you don’t mind our rather abrupt kidnapping attempt, but we were hoping to- _ouch!”_ At the word ‘kidnapping’, something in Heather’s hindbrain roared to life, and she kicked first one twin and then the other in their shins. The hands gripping her upper arms slackened, just long enough for the girl to pull free and bolt.

Unfortunately, beyond the pool of lamplight, absolute darkness crowded the tunnel, and it only took a few moments for Heather to realize she’d gone the opposite way of the tapestry exit. Turning back was out of the question, however, so the girl plunged on blindly.

At least until the tunnel apparently turned, and she ran smack into a wall.

Heather fell back onto her rear with a pained yelp, nose smarting and tears welling up in an automatic response to the pain of impact. A few seconds later, footsteps and pale yellow light caught up to her, prompting the girl to scramble back to her feet. A hand entered her field of vision, fingers out-stretched and reaching, and she flinched away. “No! Leave me alone!” A sob tore out of her throat as Heather pressed herself back into the corner of the turn, breath coming too fast.

“Calm down, Potter, we’re not- bloody hell, you’re really scared, aren’t you?”

“George, I think she’s-”

“Yeah, yeah, hold on-”

Rustling replaced the voices, and Heather blinked when a hastily emptied paper sack was thrust at her. She flicked her gaze up, to stare in bafflement at the twins who looked almost as terrified as she inexplicably felt.

“You gotta breathe into the bag, Potter,” one of them explained. “Helps to slow you down so you don’t pass out - our dad got onto a muggle medic kick for a while and told us all about their RPC and first aid and whatnot.”

“We’re not trying to hurt you,” the other added. “Promise there’s nothing bad about the bag, either.” He shook the brown paper slightly, and after a moment, Heather took it with trembling fingers. Her heart had already begun to slow down at the obvious panic the twins displayed, but she nonetheless held the opening of the bag up to her face. Breathing in and out of it did help her feel a bit better, and she took the time to get some thoughts in order.

For some bizarre reason, though, when she lowered the bag to speak, Heather’s first words were: “CPR, not RPC.”

“Er, what?”

“The thing people do when someone’s not breathing - it’s called CPR. Cardio- um, cardio-pressure response, maybe? I dunno what the letters actually stand for...”

The twins genuinely slumped in relief. “Well, _whatever_ it’s called, we haven’t the foggiest idea how to do it-”

“-so it’s a good thing you got your own breathing under control!”

Heather smiled tentatively, causing the two redheads to beam back. “Thanks. And, I’m sorry, I-”

“Nah, you’re fine Potter - in hindsight we really should’ve picked a better way to get your attention,” one of the twins grimaced.

“You didn’t really think- I mean, we aren’t _that_ scary, are we?” His brother asked. “Do the Slytherins tell their firsties horror stories about us already?”

Wincing, Heather tried to make her smile a bit stronger, more reassuring. “No, it wasn’t you, I promise. I just, I’ve heard a lot of warnings in the last couple of months, about people who hate me and my brother and might try to hurt us - I just panicked. I’m sorry.”

_“We’re_ sorry,” the twins said in sync, before one added, “That was exceptionally stupid of us, and it won’t happen again.”

“Thank you.” An awkward silence filled the tunnel, until Heather blinked. “What, um, what did you want to talk to me about, anyway?”

“Oh! The Marauders!”

“The who?”

One of the boys deflated, but the other just frowned in a determined manner. “The Marauders - Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs? Don’t you know who they are?” Heather just kept staring. “Earlier today, Professor McGonagall mentioned ‘your father and his band of Marauders’ - they were legends! Practically professional pranksters after whom Forge and I model our endeavors! Admittedly, not many students nowadays have heard of them, but surely _you_ know something.”

“No,” Heather replied, dropping her gaze to the lamp on the floor. “I barely know anything about my parents. Hagrid mentioned they were Gryffindors, and Madam Hooch told me the other day my mum’s maiden name was Evans...” She risked a glance upwards, and regretted it upon seeing identical expressions of horrified realization.

“...right then,” the boy on the left stated, looking to his brother. “Forge?”

“I quite agree, Gred,” the other answered. “C’mon, Potter, let’s get you a bit better informed.”

-HPx2-

Ironically, the three of them wound up back in the library. With most students being off at dinner, the place felt eerily empty, but at least there weren’t any curious eyes watching as Fred and George led Heather to a corner nook.

“Now, we found this lovely last year, when we broke into Filch’s office,” one of them explained, the other hastily checking to make certain they were alone before producing a folded sheet of parchment. The two of them placed their wand tips to the center crease, and said in unison: “I solemnly swear I am up to no good.”

And before Heather’s surprised eyes, words materialized: _Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs, Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers, are proud to present The Marauder’s Map,_ along with blueprints for the entire bloody castle. “Wicked...”

“Yeah, we like to think so,” one of the twins boasted. “And look, you can see where everyone is, too-”

The three of them spent a few minutes unfolding page after page of the map, seeing who’d yet to go to dinner and laughing as the mess of names crowding the Great Hall. Uncertain of whether her brother’s name might appear, though, Heather found something else to exclaim over on the sheet that included the Slytherin dorms, and moved them along shortly afterward.

“Ah, but we’re forgetting the educational part of this,” the brother on the right mentioned after a bit. “Now, to finish up, we do as before and say-”

“Mischief managed,” his twin chimed in, as they tapped their wands again. In seconds, all the ink had faded away, leaving just blank folds of parchment. Heather shook her head in wonder.

“That really is amazing,” she commented, as one of the boys neatened up the layers into a single square again.

“Sure is! Best thing we’ve found about Hogwarts so far, honestly. But now, for the Map’s guardians, with whom we had to do a fair bit of negotiating in order to get the activation phrase...” Flipping the map over with a flourish, the twin addressed it as if speaking to a group of friends. “Evenin’, mates! By any chance, would any of you fine sirs happen to answer to the name of James Potter?”

Words slowly appeared across the page. _Messr Padfoot would like to kindly inquire as to why the fine Messrs Weasley are asking about his best mate and what trouble he’s landed in this time?_

_Messr Prongs would like to kindly ask Messr Padfoot to sod off, as he’s the one more liable to land in trouble any given day of the week._

_Messr Wormtail is of a mind to point out both Padfoot and Prongs tend to land in said trouble together more often than not._

_Messr Moony feels the need to mention that the question has yet to be answered, and in that same vein, just who is the newcomer Messrs Weasley have produced?_

“Go on then,” the twin sitting on her left grinned, “Introduce yourself. They’re a bit like portraits, even if the medium’s a tad different.”

Leaning a bit closer to the parchment, Heather stared at the fading words, and took a deep breath. “Hullo. My name’s Heather Potter.”

_Messr Prongs, it should be noted, is suddenly much more interested in this guest of Messrs Weasley._

-HPx2-

Fred and George weren’t inclined to give up permanent ownership of the Map, which Heather couldn’t fault them for, but they were happy to gift it to her for a few nights a month in exchange for the occasional tidbit of insider knowledge regarding her fellow Slytherins. Which, honestly, was a small price to pay in the girl’s opinion.

When she returned to the dorm with it for the first time, she went straight down into her travelling trunk to share the marvel with her brother. Harry felt just as awed by the Map, and even more so at the lingering proof that their dad truly had once lived at Hogwarts. For well over an hour, the siblings talked with him and the other Marauders, absorbing as much as they could from the shared stories and jokes.

Hekkel, thankfully, flopped on top of the parchment at one point, which served as enough of an interruption for Heather to realize the time. “Bloody hell, I’ve got to get going before any of the others come back from dinner.”

“Do you want something to eat first?” Harry asked, carefully holding the Map to his chest, away from Hekkel’s batting paws.

“Nah, one missed meal won’t hurt me. Besides, we need to save our stores for you as much as possible.” Heather ruffled his hair as she stood. “I’ll eat extra well at breakfast tomorrow to make up for it, alright?”

“Yeah, alright. Do you need this back...?”

“Keep it for now. The twins won’t be expecting me to return it to them until day after tomorrow.” The siblings shared a smile, before Heather hurried off towards the ladder. Right as she was climbing out of the trunk, however, the door of the dorm room opened, revealing Kiera and Felicity.

Just like with Professor Snape, Heather froze.

The other girls blinked, before quickly entering the room and shutting the door. “Well, that’s one way for us to find out where you’ve been slipping your food,” Kiera said. When Heather still didn’t move, she sighed. “Merlin and Morgana, Potter, don’t look at me like that. Lots of students bring extra luggage with them, there’s nothing _wrong_ and you aren’t in trouble.” Felicity, frowning, nonetheless nodded in agreement as she moved towards her own bed.

Sucking in a breath, Heather finally finished stepping out and slammed the lid shut. She clenched her fingers a few times to get them to stop trembling before locking it shut, and didn’t dare look at her friends until she’d closed her school trunk for good measure. “You aren’t- I mean-”

“Everyone’s entitled to a safe space entirely their own,” Kiera reassured her, tone a little softer than before. Felicity didn’t add anything to her cousin’s words, though she _did_ pluck a wrapped parcel out of her own trunk and brought it over.

“Here,” she sniffed, pushing the bundle into Heather’s hands. “And don’t try to say you don’t need it, you weren’t at dinner.”

When the smaller girl undid the parcel’s strings, a warm and heavenly smell drifted up. “What’s...?”

“The house elves here must have a different recipe from home,” Felicity explained idly, waving a hand over her shoulder. “So I wrote Mother and asked her to send half a dozen shepherd’s pies. They’re all wrapped with Preservation Charms, so each is perfectly fresh when opened.”

Heather had to suddenly shut her eyes to keep from bursting into tears. “You two are amazing.”

She heard Felicity’s steps falter, and Kiera coughed uncomfortably. “We’re just filling in where you’re clearly lacking, Potter, no need to get sentimental about it.”

“Even so... I’m really glad your mums decided to come through the muggle side of the train station - I couldn’t have asked for better friends.” When Heather finally blinked her eyes back open, it was to see the cousins watching her with identical, pleased smiles.

“Alright, now go ahead and eat that and get ready for bed, we don’t have long before the others come back and I’d like all the sappiness to be gone from the air by then.”

“Of course, Felicity.”

-HPx2-

Saturday’s flight lesson with Madam Hooch involved the two of them going through various maneuvers for basic control, rough weather, and emergency landings, followed by a much more subdued flight around the castle than Heather’s original misadventure. The woman gave her permission to go flat out as they cleared the towers, though, and off she went.

Heather soared through open air, laughing delightedly as she moved with the wind, surprising a great many birds. She even dared to try out some loop-de-loops and other stunts out of a Quidditch magazine Nigel had leant her. When those went off without a hitch, she dropped into a steep dive.

Down, down, down Heather went, until she took pity on Madam Hooch’s heart and leveled off a bit sooner than the final instant. Zooming mere feet above the grass, the girl zipped across the grounds around the castle, startling the few students even worse than she had the birds. Finally, she rose to come to a hover beside her smirking instructor.

“You,” Madam Hooch announced. “Are a natural. If I don’t see you trying out for your House’s Quidditch team next year, Miss Potter, I will be severely disappointed.”

“You and me both,” the girl grinned.

-HPx2-

Apparently, though, her advanced lesson came with an unexpected addendum. On the way back up to the castle, Heather heard her name being called and paused.

“That was you on the broom before, wasn’t it Potter?” An older Slytherin girl asked when she caught up to her. “Flying with Hooch?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Why? You’re a bloody natural, that’s why. I’ve never seen a firstie fly like that without being taught at home first, which makes me want to see what you’re _really_ like with some actual practice.” The teen finally stuck a hand out for her to shake. “Izelda Sycamore, I’m Captain of our Quidditch team. You interested in coming to our practice sessions, Potter?”

Heather lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t you have a full seven players already?”

“Yeah, but I’ll be graduating next term, and we always make it a habit to start watching for replacements in advance.” Izelda looked her up and down. “You’d be wasted as a Beater or Keeper, but I wouldn’t mind seeing if you could outfly my Seeker sometime, so I’ll ask again: interested?”

“...y’know, I think I just might be.”

-HPx2-

Nigel’s eyes nearly popped out of his head when he heard Heather’s news. _“Sycamore_ asked you to come to the team practices? Bloody hell, she must _really_ have been impressed! That woman went through _three days_ of try-outs last year before she was satisfied with her team line-up!”

Heather squinted at him. “You weren’t here last year.”

“No, but I’ve heard stories! And we’re really going to have to step up your Quidditch education if you aren’t going to look like a total fool in front of those blokes - history, current League standings, the works!”

“...I’m going to regret telling you about this, aren’t I...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere, sometime, I read a fantastic fic that involved Fred and George sharing the Map a bit earlier than canon with Harry, who got to have a heart-warming back-and-forth conversation with the assorted Messrs. I wish I could remember which story it was in because I'd love to recommend reading it, but more likely than not it's buried somewhere in my ff.net faves list which I'm not exactly willing to do dig through, sorry.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! My favorite pre-written scene ought to be in the next one, so with any luck I'll have another update ready soon.  
-Tri


	8. Lay Down Your Weary Head

As September turned into October, Heather found her schedule filling up quite nicely. Days of classes and studying, evenings spent with her friends or Harry, weekends dedicated to reading and flying: _worlds_ better than life at Privet Drive.

The one thing she’d have liked to improve upon, however, would be the mystery of Professor Snape.

He never did insist Heather return to finish scrubbing the cauldrons she had left to soak, and likewise the subject of their excursion to the kitchens remained unmentioned. In class, the man alternated being scathing to the Gryffindor students, subtly approving of the Slytherins, and yet somehow, utterly cool and indifferent whenever he came within five feet of Heather. Sometimes, in the halls or at meals, she could feel a distinct prickling sensation of being watched, which _always_ turned out to be her Head of House. He got very good at glancing away just before she could pick her head up far enough to meet his gaze, but even the cousins had picked up on it.

“I would surmise he’s a bit like us, really,” Felicity mentioned when Heather complained one night. “Aware that there’s more to you than meets the eye, and trying to puzzle it all out.”

The redhead sighed. “There _really_ isn’t.”

Kiera snorted. “The more you protest, the more we think otherwise. Besides... you remember what we told you at the start of the year?”

“About how he used to be a Death Eater, yes. However, I _don’t_ get the impression he’s planning to kidnap me and my brother.”

“Well, of course not - the best abductors don’t give off any tips beforehand, do they?”

Heather shot her friends a flat glare. _“If_ you’re quite done with trying to give me new nightmare material, I think I’ll tuck in.” The pair of other girls at least had the decency to look apologetic.

-HPx2-

_“Sharper on the turns, Higgs!”_ Izelda bellowed at the top of her lungs. “If you can’t keep pace with an undersized firstie, how do you expect to beat the other Seekers to the Snitch!?”

“I am _not_ undersized,” Heather grumbled, skirting dangerously close to one of the audience stands before kicking the rear of her broom downwards and directing all power forward. She shot straight up like a rocket, blowing past Terrence Higgs and nearly knocking him from his broom. Higher, higher, above the stands, twice the height of the goal posts, and then she pulled back gently, entering a smooth, upside down arc. Just past the apex of the curve, a flash of gold caught her eye, and Heather dropped into a vertical dive. Terrence, only just catching up with her, cursed as he changed directions as well. The older boy was closer to the ground, closer to the snitch, but he hadn’t seen it, and so was forced to try and match Heather’s aim rather than zooming ahead himself.

She didn’t make it easy on him. A corkscrew spin disguised her intended route, green eyes checking that the snitch hadn’t moved as she twisted through each turn. Terrence leveled off when they were still a good distance from the ground, facing the wrong way. Unlike her lesson with Madam Hooch, Heather _did_ wait until the very last moment to pull up, and slingshotted herself right at the hovering golden ball. When he saw which way, Terrence finally flew, but by then the distance was too much to make up.

Whether the snitch spotted her coming or just dodged at random, it didn’t jerk away fast enough to avoid Heather’s fingers.

“MATCH!” Izelda hollered. “Both of you, back here _now!”_

Terrence touched down in front of the seventh year, Heather just a few seconds behind. She wanted to bounce from the excitement of winning against an actual Quidditch player, but the restrained fury on Izelda’s face made her hold it back.

“Higgs,” the Team Captain growled. “You are making it _very_ difficult to justify keeping you on this team.”

“Merlin’s beard, Sycamore, you _know_ I’m a good Seeker - I can’t help it that Potter’s some kind of flying prodigy!”

“Oh? Are you going to insist that being smaller makes her more aerodynamic, too?” Izelda shook her head. “Flying is as much about being in tune with your broom and the air as anything else, Higgs. It’s a skill anyone can get better at, regardless of how much natural talent they start with. Yes, you’re good, enough that I’ve let you skate by on less practice than the others, but no more - Matthews will be graduating with me, so Hufflepuff will be getting a new Seeker, and the Ravens too in a couple years. If you don’t work to be at the top of your game, there’s every chance those replacements will wipe the floor with you.”

“Oh come off it! You said yourself, you’re gone after this year, and like hell Flint will keep me around when he could have Potter as a replacement!”

Heather kept quiet, looking between the two of them.

“And what about _after_ school, you nitwit? Think of the professional Leagues! Recruiters want players who put in the time and effort to constantly improve, and if you don’t start those habits now, how far do you think you’ll get?” Izelda turned her stern gaze onto Heather next. “And that goes the same for you, Potter - don’t think raw talent will be enough to get you anywhere without the practice to refine it.”

Terrence scoffed before the girl could reply. “Oh please, like _she’ll_ ever need to bother working to get somewhere, not with _that_ name and fortune.”

Frowning, Heather stared at him. “What fortune?”

The older Slytherins paused. “... the _Potter_ fortune,” Terrence rephrased. “You know - heaping piles of jewels and gold and fancy old relics with the Potter crest? Typically stored in a Gringotts vault?”

Her frown deepened. “Harry and I visited our vault in July, but I wouldn’t call the stacks of money “heaps”, and there certainly weren’t any jewels or anything else.”

Terrence blinked and looked ready to argue, but Izelda interrupted by shaking her head. “That’s a subject for another time, we’ve still got half an hour left of practice before the Gryffindors show up. Both of you, get up there and let’s run another match.” Heather dutifully handed over the snitch and mounted her broom, but the matter of a ‘Potter fortune’ didn’t leave her mind.

-HPx2-

The weeks continued to go by, and several matters of pressing importance circled in the back of Heather’s mind. Key among them, as the weather began to cool significantly, was the dread of winter holidays and what she and Harry were going to do. Returning to their relatives was right out, considering how she’d snuck her little brother out from under their noses. Staying at the Leaky Cauldron could be possible, but Heather didn’t really want to deal with questions from the well-meaning Tom Tolman, nor anyone else who might happen to recognize them. That left camping within her trunk somewhere removed from other people, or finding a way to remain at Hogwarts without anyone realizing.

Half-formed ideas flitted about, and after another Quidditch practice session, Heather decided to just wander for a bit while she puzzled over them.

Her feet absently carried her up ever-shifting stairs, past empty, dusty classrooms, through corridors that alternated between torches, lanterns, and sunlit windows. Hogwarts truly was a _massive_ castle, but only a fourth of it seemed to be in use at any given time.

...however, that didn’t mean the other three quarters weren’t still looked after. Heather turned a corner, mind busy and not paying attention, and trod on a tail of grey and brown fur. From the way Mrs. Norris yowled, one would assume the mangy old cat took a dagger to each paw.

Heart rate skyrocketing from the animal’s screech, followed by the distant angry shout of her owner, Heather did the sensible thing. She ran.

Down a hall overlooking the central courtyard, left to retreat further indoors, right, another left, and then she nearly crashed face-first into a dead end. Swearing, Heather snapped her head from one side to the other, spotted a door, and bolted for it. Thank Merlin, the thing wasn’t locked.

Sadly, Flich’s stomping footsteps soon arrived at the corridor, and through the thin wood of the door Heather could hear him coming closer, pausing every so often to check the other rooms before her own hiding place. Which, as luck would have it, turned out to be a mere supply closet: no other avenues for escape available.

Heather breathed as silently as she could, backing away from the door. The footsteps slowed as Filch got closer, speaking quietly to his cat, clearly aware that there wasn’t anywhere for his prey to run. Panicking at the thought of being discovered (at being _punished_ over stepping on the ruddy cat, just like when she tried to shove Aunt Marge’s dog Ripper away from Harry when they were little), Heather took one more step - and gasped as she went _straight through_ the back wall of the closet.

When Filch opened the door a moment later, he scowled at the dust-filled space and the couple of broken chairs tucked inside. Harrumphing, the old man slammed it shut again.

Heather, staring through the transparent shimmer that formed the wall on her side, finally let out a shaky but relieved sigh. Then she glanced around at the new space behind the illusion. It was just as dusty as the actual closet, and about the same size, but with a bookcase on one side and a stairwell descending straight into the floor on the other. Curiosity aroused, Heather carefully shuffled down it.

On the level below was a much bigger room, with an empty fireplace, a couple more dusty bookcases, and a window with a bench seat in what had to be the outer wall of the castle, because it looked out over the Quidditch pitch.

She found shoved in one corner an old, flat-topped trunk full of musty blankets, and behind the staircase was an open faced cupboard with half a dozen shelves. There was even an old wardrobe, with pristine robes that looked to be straight from the Victorian Era hanging inside, nary a mothball in sight. And tucked away on the far side was a door leading to an old-fashioned toilet, a small table with a wash basin and water pitcher crammed inside as well.

Heather took one last look around the place, before slipping back up the stairs and out the double-layer closet.

She spent the remainder of the afternoon practically _burning_ with anticipation, but managed, somehow, to merely pass it off as excitement for the following day’s Quidditch match between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, the first game of the season.

-HPx2-

“This,” Harry breathed, coming to a stop at the base of the stairs. “Is _perfect.”_

“I thought you’d think so,” Heather beamed, joining him. “We can stack extra firewood beside the hearth, and keep our non-perishables in the cupboard, and make a pallet on the floor in front of the window with the blankets over there - as long as we get stocked up beforehand, there’s no reason we can’t hide in here all winter _and_ summer!”

“No more Dursleys?”

Heather slung an arm around her brother’s shoulders, mirroring his delighted grin. “No more Dursleys.”

She didn’t have time to stick around long, instead giving Harry a goodnight hug and leaving him with the travelling trunk and their familiars before rushing back to the Slytherin dorms. Cutting it rather close to curfew, she managed to duck into the Common Room right before the clock struck. A couple of prefects looked up curiously from their seats, but thankfully, the novelty of Heather being a member of their house had long worn off. No one gave the girl a second glance as she headed for the first year girls dormitory.

Kiera and Felicity knew something to be up, of course, and Heather moved quickly to get changed and into bed before either could ask in front of their other two roommates (Jennifer Selwyn and Lysanne Grove were... not quite friends, clearly holding their distance no matter how politely they spoke. No reason to go around discussing secrets in front of the pair). Heather said goodnight to the room at large, climbing into her bed and drawing the curtains.

She fell asleep that night with a delighted grin on her face.

-HPx2-

After breakfast, Heather promised to meet up with her friends at the Quidditch Pitch before the game, and slipped off by herself for a bit despite Nigel’s protests. She took extra care heading up to the secret room, checking around corners for the castle’s caretaker and his cranky pet. Thankfully, the coast remained clear, and she soon arrived at the double layered closet, clutch bag full of fresh leftovers from the breakfast table.

Harry obviously felt torn between being more happy at seeing her or the food. Heather let him dig in, Hekkel and Hedwig watching closely in case of offered tidbits, while she checked on her brother’s progress.

Some handkerchiefs had been located in the wardrobe of old robes and put towards dusting, making the room markedly cleaner. Their supplies already lined the shelves of the cupboard, a blanket pallet arranged in front of the fireplace, and the wash basin pulled out of the toilet to make more room.

“That was empty before,” Harry mentioned between bites, gesturing towards the half-full water pitcher. “But when I touched the handle, it filled up, just like that! And the old toilet doesn’t flush - as soon as you’re done, y’know, _going,_ it all disappears!”

Heather grinned. “I love magic.”

“Me too!”

She took a few minutes to practice her recently learned Breeze Charm, gathering up dust off the floor and blowing it all out the open window. That done, Heather peered out in the direction of the Quidditch Pitch. “I think you might just be able to see the game from up here.”

“Really?” Harry hopped up, brushing the crumbs from his hands, and trotted closer. “Hmmm... maybe. It’s kinda blurry from here.”

Frowning, Heather looked at her brother’s eyes, squinting behind battered glasses. “I think I’m going to ask my friends if there’s such a thing as magical eye doctors.”

Harry glanced up, surprised. “But, that’s probably really expensive - we need to save our money for the important stuff!”

“You being able to see better _is_ important, Harry. Besides... I want to talk to those Gringotts goblins again. Terrence Higgs mentioned something about a Potter fortune the other day, and I’ve been wondering ever since if we might have more money somewhere.”

“Really?”

“Maybe. Like I said, it needs to be asked about. But regardless, we _will_ be getting your eyes looked at.”

Her little brother grinned, and leaned against her. “Okay, Heather.”


	9. Unpleasant Truths and Lies

October ended with a grand feast in the Great Hall, all sorts of extra treats and artistically designed dishes laid out to celebrate. Heather took a chance and stuffed a few things into the expanded pouch Felicity had given her, but only in the moments just _after_ Professor Snape turned away from staring at her, his attention firmly settled elsewhere for a few minutes.

Kiera clearly noticed, because she smirked every time Heather executed one of her carefully coordinated pilfers. “You’re getting quite good at this.”

“At what?”

“Being a sneaky snake.” They shared a secret grin before turning back to their plates, and the feast progressed in a haze of eating and laughing.

Afterwards, however... Afterwards found Heather and the cousins strolling back to their dormitory in a trailing line of Slytherins, content in a companionable silence. Practically as soon as they entered the common room, however, the good mood fled with a few loud words.

_“That’s_ the one, the _mudblood’s_ spawn.”

Several people paused. Kiera and Felicity froze. Heather frowned, and met the scowling glower of a robust seventh year by the name of Darius Blishwick. He sat sprawled on one of the sofas, several friends gathered around, a small pile of empty bottles with labels she didn’t recognize taking up the table in front of them. Every single one of the older students leveled a glare in her direction.

Most others coming through the entrance with them swiftly moved out of the way. To their credit, Felicity and Kiera each took a sidestep closer.

“Acting like she’s one of us,” Darius went on. “Dirty little halfblood, sullying Slytherin’s name and the Dark Lord’s memory... Wonder if she could even put up a real fight, or just roll over and die like her mudblood mother and blood traitor father-”

“I seem to recall they did plenty of fighting, before your dead git of a Lord proved himself a coward by murdering unarmed opponents,” Heather stated, glaring back.

The seventh year’s eyes widened, and he stood up. Both the cousins on either side of her seemed to have stopped breathing, but Heather refused to so much as blink as the massive boy came forward to plant himself directly in front of her.

“You insult the Dark Lord again,” Darius growled, “And I won’t even bother with a wand to kill you - I’ll do it with my bare hands.”

“Well, that makes you the same as any other muggle then, doesn’t it?”

Heather had approximately two seconds to regret her retort, as a rather large hand went up, likely in order to be brought back down in a colossal slap to the side of her face. Thankfully, a different hand snapped out, catching the boy’s wrist and holding it firmly in place.

“Blishwick, Blishwick, Blishwick,” Izelda tutted, seizing his other arm and twisting it up behind his back before Darius could attempt to turn. “You’re not one to talk about bare hands, mate, not when you chaff and bleed any time your dainty little fingers so much as touch a broom handle.”

He snarled, letting loose a number of swears directed at Heather and Izelda both.

“Oof, now that language is _hardly_ appropriate for little firsties. Girls, why don’t you go on to your dorm room? I’ll take care of putting this lummox in his place.”

Heather frowned, crossing her arms. “Like I’d be scared off by a few foul words. If you’re going to take care of him, I want to watch.”

Izelda barked out a laugh at that, and didn’t bother trying to send her off again. Instead, she turned in place, forcing Darius to follow along, then pushed him forward into the wall before releasing his arms. Her wand was out and pointing right at his nose before the boy could even finish turning around.

“Now then, I’m quite sure no one wants to bother Professor Snape about a seventh year who should know better than to pester a group of little girls,” Izelda said idly. “So let’s take care of your punishment right now, shall we?” A few flickers of her wand made all the boy’s clothes disappear aside from his underwear, and then a pair of bubble-covered brushes popped into existence. Izelda stuck them to his hands, and a final swish sent the brushes away to scrub the floor, dragging Darius along with them. Quite a few of the people who’d stood back laughed at his unfortunate state, while the boy’s friends took the opportunity to make a quick exit.

Izelda cocked an eyebrow at Heather, who nodded firmly. She then headed off towards the hall of girls dormitories, deliberately crossing directly in front of Darius as she did so, head held high. Kiera and Felicity hurried after.

“Buggering hell, Heather, that was _brilliant-”_

“That was _unbelievably stupid,”_ Felicity hissed cutting off her cousin. _“What in Merlin’s name were you_\- Potter?” Heather didn’t bother lingering to listen to them. As soon as she reached the safety of their otherwise empty dorm, she bolted for the bathroom, delayed panic rising swiftly, along with a distinctly familiar burning sensation coming up her throat-

“Buggering hell,” Kiera said again, more faintly than before, as Heather vomited into a toilet. The red-haired girl didn’t pay any attention to her, too many mixed-up thoughts taking priority, such as _why did I do that, he’s as big as Uncle Vernon, thank Merlin for Izelda, what am I going to tell Harry, why didn’t anyone else DO something-?!_

A hand settling on her shoulders finally distracted Heather, too big to belong to one of her roommates. “Easy, Potter,” Izelda murmured. “Get it all out now, that’s good.”

When the dry heaving stopped, Heather pushed herself back from the toilet, trembling. “Why did he do that? Why did _I_ do that?!”

“Because he’s a git who lost his dad and big brother to the War,” Izelda said simply. “And also because you’ve got more guts than common sense, I reckon. Honestly, if you’re the type to stand up to bastards four times your size, I’m going to start calling you our Green Gryffindor.”

Heather let out a weak laugh, arms wrapped around herself. “‘M not brave. I just- don’t think. I mouthed off to Uncle Vernon once like that, and he hit me so hard it broke my nose.” Izelda’s hand twitched, but that wasn’t enough to get Heather to stop talking. “He said I was just as worthless as my drunkard parents. Then he threw me into our cupboard, and it was two days before they let me go back up to the attic with Harry.”

The older girl let out a short huff, her hand shifting upwards to carefully squeeze Heather’s shoulder. “Well. Best that you’re here now, isn’t it? And your brother will be along next year, so you don’t need to worry about him either,” she quickly added.

Heather let out a choked laugh. “I always worry about him. It’s my _job_ to worry about him-”

“No,” Izelda said firmly. “It’s your job to eat properly at every meal, and do your homework in a timely manner, and practice flying as often as you want. That’ll be his job, too, when he gets here. That’s all _any_ firstie is responsible for, and you aren’t allowed to argue otherwise ‘cause I’m older and wiser than you are.”

Heather laughed again, but it came out a bit stronger than before.

The seventh year girl stuck around a while longer, before heading back out to the common room to end the spells on Darius. Felicity and Kiera, thoughtfully, had gotten Heather’s pajamas out for her, and already drawn the curtains on her bed, too. Once she changed, the redhead quietly thanked both of them, and curled up under her covers.

For the first time since finding the hidden room for Harry to stay in, she regretted it. Heather would’ve dearly loved to clamber down into her travelling trunk, and spend the night curled up with her little brother, as they’d done since they were toddlers.

-HPx2-

Despite what Izelda had said the night before about not bothering Professor Snape, someone still clearly informed him of what had happened, because the man kept Heather behind after Potions. Felicity, Kiera, and Nigel were clearly waiting by the door, but Heather kept her focus on the dark eyes staring into her own.

“If Mister Blishwick or anyone else attempts to physically harm you, Miss Potter, I expect to be told,” the professor said sternly. “I will not tolerate such actions from anyone, _especially_ not within my own House.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” Heather hesitated. “Izelda’s not in trouble, is she?”

“If she had acted without cause, yes, Miss Sycamore would be serving several detentions. However, defending a much smaller Housemate from a hostile aggressor is, I think, a suitably worthy motivation.” Professor Snape sneered. “And if he is smart, Mister Blishwick will take note of her lack of punishment, and cease his unsavory behavior in future.”

Heather watched her teacher for a long moment. “You know what he was saying beforehand, don’t you?”

“I have been informed of his statements, yes.”

“Do you agree with them?”

Pale fingers paused in the midst of tucking away delivered homework assignments. Professor Snape seemed to focus on them for a long time, never once looking up to meet Heather’s gaze. “Once, Miss Potter, I might have. When I was young and foolish, many similar words crossed my lips, costing me the dearest friend I ever knew.”

Heather’s breath caught in her throat. “What happened to them?”

“We parted ways. She died before we could reconcile.” Professor Snape finally looked up, and for the first time since arriving at Hogwarts, Heather saw him look tired. “And I swore I would never again believe or repeat the Dark Lord’s lies of blood purity.”

Slowly, the girl nodded. She left without another word.

-HPx2-

Slytherin won their first game of the Quidditch season. Their Chasers had a hard time against the new trio of girls Gryffindor put together, but Terence outflew the other Seeker easy, and caught the Snitch forty minutes into the match. Heather made sure to swing by the locker rooms on her way back up to the castle, and congratulate the older boy.

“Yeah, well, not like I had to go up against you again,” Terence said, trying to be dismissive, but he wore a pleased grin nonetheless.

“Are we going to practice again this weekend?”

Terence huffed. “Barmy, you are. We won this match, Sycamore ought to give us a rest-” He hesitated, before looking sheepish. “-but I guess even if she does, you and I can get a few practice matches in.”

Heather beamed. “Thanks!”

The older boy shook his head, grin returning. “You’re ridiculous, I hope you realize. It _is_ possible to just get out and fly for fun, you don’t need the excuse of playing Quidditch every time.”

She shrugged, no bothering with a verbal reply. No one needed to know that all her spare time not dedicated to school and Quidditch went to Harry, after all.

They wound up heading up the path back to the castle together, various other Slytherins chatting in pleased voices around them, a few Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs mixed in, though anyone sporting Gryffindor red like as not hurried past.

“Sore losers,” Terence sniggered as the other team’s new Keeper, a fourth year by the name of something Wood, stormed on by. “Speaking of sore losers, Potter, keep an eye out for Blishwick, yeah? He’s mostly mad at Sycamore for pushing him around, but don’t think he’s forgotten you didn’t just duck your head and hurry away like a mouse, either.”

Heather sighed. “I figured. Bullies always hold grudges.”

Terence looked down at her with a touch of wariness. “Sounds like you’ve got experience in that area.”

“Plenty. There was a girl named Marie at my primary school who hated me for whatever reason, and got the rest of the class to follow her lead. And our cousin Dudley and his gang never stopped giving Harry grief, either - their favorite game is to chase him all over the neighborhood, and beat him up if they catch him.” She scowled. “Sometimes I manage to distract them and give him a chase to escape, but not often enough.”

The older boy looked slightly ill at that. “Bloody hell. And he’s got to put up with all that without your help now, doesn’t he...” He noticed Heather hunch her shoulders, and immediately tried to backtrack. “I’m sure your brother’s fine, though. I mean, he knows he’ll be coming to Hogwarts next year, right? Less than a year to go. And you’ll see him at Christmas, right? That’s only a month and a bit off now!”

Heather just ducked her head a bit further - partly to give the illusion of being upset, but mostly to hide the conflicted expression on her face. A sudden bump to the shoulder got her to look back up.

“What’s got you in such a frowny-face mood?” Bea asked. “Your lot won the game, didn’t they?”

“Yeah, I know,” Heather replied, letting a weak smile onto her face. “Just- thinking about my brother, is all.” Terence tried to avoid looking guilty, and failed.

The Hufflepuff first year, on the other hand, immediately turned sympathetic. “Ah, I gotcha. Have you gotten to write to him at all? I’ve never seen you with an owl before...”

Not with Hedwig staying with Harry so much, no. But Heather had another excuse for that. “She stays in the Owlery, mostly. Our relatives don’t like magic, it’s all freakish to them - they’d hate Hedwig showing up with letters, and take it out on Harry.”

“Oh.”

“But, like Terence said, Christmas is only a month and a bit off, so I’ll see him then.”

“And your bastard relatives at the same time,” the older Slytherin muttered.

“Well, yeah. We’re kind of stuck with them, at least until I graduate and can find somewhere else for us to live.”

“My house has a couple of spare rooms!” Bea immediately said. “You wouldn’t even have to wait for graduation - anytime you want to come visit during the holidays, summer, winter, or Easter, feel free!”

Even with the unpleasant weight of all the lies she had to keep offering up as truth, Bea’s enthusiastic offer made Heather smile with genuine joy. “Thanks, Bea. We might just take you up on that.”


End file.
